


Collision

by I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins



Series: The Way of Thedas [2]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst and Tragedy, Dark, F/F, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-29
Updated: 2016-03-18
Packaged: 2018-04-06 21:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 10
Words: 21,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4236915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins/pseuds/I_Write_Tragedies_Not_Sins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"...jealous of the life they could not feel, could not touch... in blackest envy..." </p><p>Kinloch Hold. </p><p>Growing up in a stone tower, always being watched, has a different effect on everyone. Some thrive, knowing they are protected. Others resist, chafing against the cold chains.</p><p>Light consensual smut & mentions and depictions of abuse/rape. Also mentions / flashbacks of childhood abuse. Triggering content enters at Chapter 5, last paragraph, and chapter 7 deals with the aftermath of such event. Will update as I continue to write. Trigger content will be labelled per chapter, as well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Of_Quirky_Excellence](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Of_Quirky_Excellence/gifts), [Dreamlover1102](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dreamlover1102/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jalyn Surana and Jowan: http://musicalrain0.deviantart.com/art/Jalyn-Surana-and-Jowan-for-Collision-461153755
> 
> Melina Amell and Cullen: http://milkytwilight.deviantart.com/art/Cullen-and-Melina-553815049

The circle is a stillness.  Mages huddle in corners, voices kept to hushed whispers.  That is, when they dare to speak at all.  A silence, louder than words, echos across the halls, interrupted only by the clanking of templar armour or the swishing of robes.   
  
Jalyn shivers as a cold breeze blows in through a crack in the wall.  It’s small, just a sliver, but she presses her narrow face against the stone, hope that feels like desperation filling her up. She just wants to catch a glance of the outside world; something, anything, other than this dreary circle and its stone walls.  She wraps her bony arms around her wry frame as a thin beam of light catches her eye.  It’s all she can see, just a shred of light, but it feels better than the darkness of Kinloch Hold.   
  
A hand touches her shoulder, so soft, and she spins around, eyes wide in fear before softening as she recognizes the boy in front of her.   
  
_ Jowan. _   
  
Her heartbeat quickens as she fiddles with the edges of her robe.  His smile is hesitant, soft, familiar.  She matches it with her normal smile that's something caught halfway between a grin and a smirk.  Her long, cinnamon coloured hair is pulled back in a tight ponytail, revealing her pointed ears for all to see and making her gaunt cheeks seem even more hallow.   
  
But it doesn't matter here that she is just a knife-ear, as the shems back in Denerim had called her.  Here, they are all treated with an equal amount of disdain, the shems and elven alike.  Here, their magic marked them as different and dangerous and something that needed to be controlled. She hates her magic, but she hates the templars and the chantry twice as much.   
  
Jowan’s hand is warm in hers as she grabs it, hoping to hide their embrace in the shadows. She pulls him close, back pressing against the wall.  Love isn’t allowed, not here.  But her heart can’t be controlled by rules and regulations, try as she might to deny it.   
  
His lips are warm as they touch hers, still uncertain.  She meets his uncertainty with the fierceness that comes from the bottom of her heart.  She grips the front of his robes so tightly her knuckles turn white, a breathless moan escaping.   
  
She pulls away, leaving him panting as his eyes dart around, looking for spying templars.  “Jalyn… .”  He whispers her name and she trembles with pent up desire.   
  
She doesn't speak, just guides him to a hidden corner where mages go to couple, a place where they can join and no one will see.  Behind the stairwell spiders scuttle, but she doesn't mind the audience.  She grabs him again, pressing her body against his.  A shiver runs down her spine as his hands roam over her arms and back.   
  
“Jowan,”  she says, her voice a hoarse whisper.  “Jowan!”   
  
He lifts her up, pinning her against a wall.  Her legs wrap around his waist automatically.  She tilts her head back and a soft moan escapes her lips.  His teeth scrape her throat.  She trembles.  “More,”  she says, and it sounds like a plea.   
  
They both freeze as the sound of clanking armour reaches their ears.  They wait with baited-breath as the sound grows closer.  A bead of sweat drips into her eyes.  She squeezes them shut, praying to the Maker that they don't get caught.  Adrenaline is rushing through her, causing her heartbeat to quicken even more.   
  
The sound fades away.  He passes them by, and Jalyn looks into Jowan’s eyes.  “Don’t stop,” is all she says, a small grin forming on her lips.   
  
He smiles back, his grin a little lopsided and unsure.  But as he thrusts into her, all of his hesitation goes away. They both know they don't have time to make this sweet; to draw it out with foreplay or gentle kisses.  She closes her eyes as pleasure hums through her.   
  
His hands grip her hips tightly, and she can feel that she’ll have small bruises by the evening.  But it doesn’t matter.  All that matters is the feel of him inside her, their breaths mingling in hot puffs as they reach their climax.   
  
He rests his forehead against hers, eyelids fluttering.  “I love you,”  he whispers, and her eyes fly open in panic.   
  
Love?  No. No, it isn’t love.  If he loves her, if the templars knew…   
  
“What a ridiculous thing to say,” she rasps back, her voice harsh.   
  
He looks at her as she climbs down, sadness quickly filling his eyes.  She scowls, fear making her angry.   
  
“Why is loving you so ridiculous?”  he asks.   
  
The question is simple.  She should be able to answer it easily.  She squares her shoulders, about to reply.   _‘Because I don’t love you!’_  That’s what she means to say;  what she needs to say. The words are there, hovering behind her lips, waiting.   
  
“Because it’s too dangerous,” is what she says instead, tone full of defeat and shoulders slumped.   
  
He tries to wrap his arms around her but she wrenches away.  "Don't,"  she warns. She can't. They can't. They both know this.   
  
She backs away until she hits the wall.  Jowan stares at her, liquid gray eyes patient and pleading.  His hand reaches out, waiting, hoping.   
  
She turns her head, refusing it.  Her heart skips a beat as she hears him suck in a tight breath.   
  
If she doesn't look at him, she can resist.   
  
She looks.   
  


  
  
~*~*~

  
  
  
Melina Amell watches Ser Cullen through her mess of tangled curls. His blonde curls with hints of orange catch in the candlelight.  Her eyes trace his firm jaw, avoiding looking at his eyes lest he catch her watching.  He moves his hands with confidence as he shifts the sculpted pawns around the chess board.  She stands in the shadows, watching the way the candle light reflects off his templar armour.  When he smiles, it’s one of boyish enthusiasm that makes her heart feel giddy and light.   
  
She blushes, turning back to the book she has grabbed.  It is folly to look at a templar so.  Melina’s white-blonde curls tumble loosely, framing her rounded face, as she shakes her head at herself.  Even if he is as handsome as the heroes in the fables her mother had once read to her.   
  
She opens the book;  the musty smell of the pages makes her smile.  Her feet carry her without thinking toward her table.  The chair is hard beneath her, and the chill in the air causes her to shiver.  Her hands pull her worn pink shawl tighter around her buxom frame.   
  
The corners of her lips pull upward in a small smile as the noises of the library fill her ears.  The library is the only place that breaks the silence of Kinloch.  Lessons and the hum of magic fill the air as templars watch on from the sidelines, waiting to interfere should something turn awry. Here, she feels safe, protected. She knows should anything happen, the templars will make it right.    
  
A shadow covers the page she is reading and she looks up, head tilted to the side.  Heat floods her cheeks as she sees  _his_ face.  Cullen's eyes are staring at the carpet, his skin red and mottled with a blush.   
  
“Ser Cullen!”  she gasps, jumping to her feet and nearly falling over. She drops a curtsey, face flooding with heat.   
  
He glances up, his eyes meeting hers, and she feels as if she might faint.  “You dr-dr-dropped this, Miss Meina,”  he says.   
  
She looks down, surprise widening her eyes when he says her name. She hadn't realized the young templar recruit had even noticed her, let alone knew her name.  In his hand she notices a small quill with a dark purple feather.  She reaches for it, a tingle forming at the base of spine as their fingers touch.   
  
He jerks back and the quill hits the floor.  Blushing a deeper shade of red, he bends to pick it up.  “So-so-sorry, miss.  How clum-clumsy of me,”  he says, not meeting her eyes as he sets the quill on the table near her book.   
  
She curtsies in reply, mimicking faded memories of her mother.  “Thank you, Ser Cullen,” she whispers back.   
  
He bows, the motion awkward, as his opponent from the chess game chuckles.  He rubs the back of his neck before walking back to his own table.   
  
Melina sits down, heart racing.   _Stupid , foolish girl._  She pinches the back of her wrist, wincing slightly from the pain.  She crosses her heart and bows her head.   
  
_ Maker, forgive me my sin.  Andraste, cure me of these wretched thoughts and let me walk clean again. _   
  
The familiar words run through her mind.  She stands, brow furrowed tight.  Each step is calm, betraying the inner chaos in her heart.  She reaches the chapel and kneels before a Sister.   
  
“I come for contrition,”  she whispers.  “Maker, forgive me my sin…”   
  
The new Lay Sister stands above her.  Her face is young, Melina guesses she can't be more than seventeen.  Only a few years older than she.   
  
She smiles down at Melina.  It's a gentle smile, kinder than she expected.  "I cannot offer contrition, but I am here to listen to your request on behalf of the Maker,"  she replies, a softness in her eyes.  "My name is Lily, what's yours?"   
  
"Melina. Melina Amell,"  she answers, her voice barely a whisper.   
  
Lily leans forward, straining to hear.  "You needn't be afraid,"  she says, offering a hand.   
  
Melina grasps it, clutching it like a lifeline.   
  
"What is your sin?"   
  
"Lust."  Her cheeks burn red with her answer, though she knows it to be true.  Lust was a dangerous thing indeed, when demons stalk your dreams.  Fear makes her tremble.  "I want to be cleansed;  I don't want to fall to the demons,"  she whispers.  _Please, Maker, don't let me fall._   
  
Lily squeezes her hand.  "Believe, and your Faith in the Maker shall be your shield,"  she replies.   
  
Another mage joins them.  Her dark brown hair falls in messy tangles around her shoulders.  "Magic is the greatest sin we have committed,"  she says, and her voice is solemn. "It's a curse to us all, a divine punishment."   
  
Melina turns.  "Keili.  Have you come to pray, too? " she asks.   
  
Keili shakes her head.  "No.  But I should have. " Her eyes meet Lily's, her face blank. Turbulent emotions crash through, and Melina's empathic magic picks up on it immediately.    
  
Lily blushes and looks away, quickly getting to her feet.  "Maker bless you both,"  she mumbles, before leaving, her own emotions equally as turbulent and confusing as Keili's.   
  
Keili frowns.  "We must all be cleansed,"  she mutters, voice low as she stares off into the distance.   
  
A shiver runs down Melina's spine at her words.  Somehow, they suddenly sound dangerous.


	2. Chapter 2

Melina feels everything.  Each breath of loneliness, each aching heartbeat that lies trapped within the rules of the circle.  With each footstep Melina takes down the curving corridor, h er essence seems to vibrate with the emotions of the mages and templars around her.  Enchanter Wynne says it is a side effect of being a spirit healer, an empath.  But of all the emotions she feels, the one who has always felt the strongest to her is  Jalyn.   
  
She watches her friend from afar, afraid to approach her.  She can feel the tension rolling toward her in ripples, even from a distance.  Melina sighs, her rounded cheeks puffing out.  She wants to heal her friend, but some things magic can't fix. The rift between them seems to grow each day, pushing them further apart.   
  
Memories of when they were inseparable still hound Melina's memories.  Whenever she walks the Fade, she always searches for Jalyn's presence.  But Jalyn no longer walks the fade by her side.  They are no longer that close.  Not since the older mage had found out about Melina's crush on a templar.  It is the ultimate betrayal in Jalyn's mind and nothing Melina can say would excuse her sins.   
  
She knows it's wrong, to think of Ser Cullen in such a way.  But every time their eyes meet, a blush creeps along her cheeks and lewd images dance in her mind.  She hates herself for it.  Prays that the sinful thoughts will leave her.  That Jalyn will be her friend again.  She is courting demons, allowing her emotions to run so freely.  She wishes to be more like Jalyn and the thought weighs like a heavy stone on her shoulders.  She misses her, misses her so badly her entire body aches with it and sleep eludes her at night.    
  
Melina's feet continue to move her forward, her mind wandering far away, until she reaches the room Enchanter Wynne has set aside for her and Anders to study their healing magic in.  He's the only other apprentice healer in Kinloch, for now.  The only other empath. She frowns a little as she thinks of him.  He's a few years older than she, around Jalyn's age, and also constantly pushing against the confines of the circle.  He feels like chaos every time she tries to touch inside him.  He always shuts her out quickly, though.  Anders never lets anyone in, his walls so thick and high it sometimes feels as if there's nothing inside.   
  
She walks into the room and a gasp escapes her lips at the sight.  Anders stands in the corner, an older mage entangled in his embrace.  The lust hits her in scalding hot waves, burning like fire along her skin with its intensity.  She covers her face, cheeks red with shame.   
  
"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"  she says quickly, trying to block the wave of emotions she can feel from the two boys. _Please, don't be mad, don't be mad._ Fear and shame couple inside her as she covers her face.   


Anders stares at her a moment, body rigid, before relaxing.  His magic stirs against her.  Then, she feels nothing.  All sense of everything disappears, as if he has sucked every emotion from the room with his magic.   
  
"Karl was helping me study before you arrived,"  Anders says, voice calm and even.  "He was just saying goodbye."   
  
Melina peeks through her fingers as Karl casts a sour look her way.  "Ah, yes.  Of course.   _Goodbye_ , Anders,"  he replies.   
  
"Sorry,"  she squeaks again, moving out of the way as he hurries past. Memories of when she had walked in on her father with his mistress flood her mind. 

_His face is pinched in an angry snarl. His large hand comes hurling down, colliding with her cheek as he growls. "Don't you dare speak to your mother about this," he says as pain makes her vision hazy._ It was the first time her father had struck her. But it wasn't the last.  
  
Anders blinks at her. "I forgot you were coming," he says simply, staring at her from across the room.  
  
Melina curtsies. "Hello, Anders," she whispers, struggling to keep her tone polite despite her thundering heart.  
  
The rush of emotions followed by such a abrupt loss makes her feel dizzy and lightheaded, like her world is off kilter. Her cheeks are flushed, each breath is a struggle. She tries not to see her father where Anders stands, tries so hard to push those memories aside as if they never happened.  
  
Suddenly, templar magic floods through her, calming her. She looks up to see the Knight-commander with Ser Cullen by his side. She stutters incoherently; worry that they have seen Anders and Karl making her nervous.  
  
"Hush, child. No one is in trouble, today," Greagoir rumbles, staring down at her.  
  
Anders snorts loudly. "Right. You're just here to make sure us mages don't step out of line, right, Knight-commander?" He sneers at the man, contempt clear in his voice.  
  
"Anders... ." Greagoir says, his voice an obvious warning.  
  
Cullen frowns, eyes narrowing at the mage. "You should n-not speak to the Knight-commander in s-s-such a way. He is al-already too lenient with you," he adds.  
  
Anders scoffs. "Too bad you don't know _why_ that is, huh,  pretty boy?"  
  
"Anders!" Melina chastises, finally finding her voice. She knows what Cullen is referring to. Anders is just returning from his fifth escape attempt. "Please," she adds, hoping he does not wish to cause trouble today.  
  
He rolls his eyes but nods. "Do I even have a choice?" he mutters sarcastically.  
  
The Knight-commander frowns, the lines on his grizzled face deepening, but he doesn't respond. He just takes up his place in the corner, eyes watching and only just out of earshot if they whisper.  
  
"You know they're only here to protect us," Melina says, voice low.  
  
"Andraste's knickers, you don't really believe that, do you?" he asks, awe and disgust filling his voice. His eyes widen as he looks at her. "You do.  _Puppe_ ," he says.  
  
She blinks at the unfamiliar word before remembering. "You were brought from the Anderfells. That's why they call you-."  
  
"Shut up," Anders interrupts, voice a low growl. She can't tell if his anger is self-directed or at her, but it bites along her skin anyway. Hot tiny pricks along her arms and neck. She shivers, stepping back.  
  
He frowns, shifting from anger to annoyance in the blink of an eye. "You'll never pass your Harrowing if you can't even shield properly," he says, lips twisting into a smirk.  
  
She bows her head. "I'm sorry," she mumbles.  
  
"You also apologize too much," he adds, tone dry, expression blank.  
  
"I'm-" she begins before biting her lip, stopping the rest of her sentence from tumbling out.  
  
The silence lies heavy between them, giving the air a weighted feel. Her eyes drift from the floor to land on Ser Cullen's face, foolish as it is.  
  
Shame tears its way through her. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek, forcing her gaze to focus on anything else but the forbidden templar recruit in the corner. She clutches the fabric of her light pink robes in her fists, knuckles turning white.  
  
A disgusted sigh makes her turn to glance back at Anders. "You're not a puppet," he amends."You're worse. You actually have feelings for-."  
  
"Please! Don't, you can't say it aloud, it's not... ." Her words rush out after each other as she steps toward her fellow mage, hands outstretched in a plea.  
  
Anders runs his fingers through his dark blonde hair. "Yeah. Don't worry, kid. Who am I going to tell? Them?" He glares over at the templars."They don't care about us, you know. They just use the pretty ones for their pleasure, 'til it gets complicated. Then they abandon them." Each word he says nips along her skin, laced with bitterness and anger.  
  
"You hate them," she whispers, sadness filling her up inside.  
  
"You're a mage. How can you not?"  
  
She casts a small glance over at Cullen before answering. "Because I can feel them, too. Can't you? You're a spirit healer, too. They don't all hold darkness in their hearts."  
  
"All I feel from them is fear," he replies, eyes wide.  
  
She frowns, head tilting to the side. "Does it always belong to them?" she asks, curiosity pawing at her.  
  
She watches as he steps back into the shadows a little ways, effectively hiding his face from view. Hiding but not hiding. There, and yet not. His eyes are far away, and she can tell he isn't looking at her anymore.  
  
"All I know is I just want to go home."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I headcanon that Anders spoke a little language from the Anderfells but grew out of it, on purpose, as he got older and tried to forget where he came from.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Art by: http://anime-n-manga87.deviantart.com/

Jalyn stares at Melina, the girl who had been her very first friend when she arrived at the circle. A cold breath of air hovers between them.  Melina bows her head, thick curls hiding her face from Jalyn's view.  Her shoulders slump down, as if a heavy weight is pulling on her body.  They both shiver as a winter’s breeze blows through the cracks in the wall.   
  
Jalyn grabs Melina's wrist, the fabric of her pale pink robes coarse against her skin.  "Hey,"  she whispers, looking at a stain on the stone wall instead of her friend.  It had been months since they'd spoken.  As much as she hates to admit it, she misses her human friend. Misses her with a pain so deep she can't even put it to voice.   
  
Melina scuffs her toe along the ground and mumbles something too low for Jalyn to hear.   
  
"What?"  Jalyn asks, rising up on the tips of her toes, straining to hear.  Her dark purple robes are too short and bare her ankles to the chill as she tilts an ear to listen.   
  
Curls bouncing, Melina shakes her head and looks up, a bright smile on a tear-stained face.  She rubs her eyes, the soft pink of her robes blending in with the colour of her plump cheeks.  "I thought you were mad at me,"  she mumbles. "I thought you hated me."   
  
Jalyn sighs, a sharp push of air through her lips.  "No.  Well, yes I was mad, but I'm not anymore,"  she replies.  She peers down at Melina's face, a small frown on her sharp, angled face.   
  
“Why not anymore?”  Melina asks, wringing her hands but meeting her friend’s gaze.  She pulls her lower lip in between her teeth as her brows knit together.   
  
Jalyn shrugs.  “I guess I missed ya, shem,”  she replied, the accent she held from the Denerim alienage slipping through even all these years later.  “I still think you’re wrong, though.‘ Bout the Chantry, and all that.  But-”   
  
Clanking armour causes her to turn, eyes narrowing as she watches a group of three templars walk past them.  He's there, as well, the one who has caught Melina's eye.  Her eyes dart to the human girl's face, searching for clues.  Melina's cheeks are flushed and red as she watches the templars.  Cullen nods in her direction, a matching blush colouring his own skin as well.   
  
Jalyn's hands clench into tight fists as they disappear around the corner.  "You- what are you doin'?"  she hisses at Melina. Fear for the girl makes her heart race.   
  
Melina ducks her head, arms wrapping protectively around her chest.  "Please, don't be mad! It's not what you think!"   
  
"Liar!"  The words leave her lips before she can stop them.  "You're a traitor!"   
  
Melina looks up, fresh tears in her golden brown eyes.  "If you hate me so much, why did you ask me here?"  she asks, voice breaking.   
  
Jalyn steps back, anger making her light-headed.  "I don't hate you, but I had thought you had come to your senses,"  she remarks, struggling to bring her anger and fear under control.   
  
"At least I'm not fraternizing with a blood mage," Melina shoots back.  The moment she finishes the sentence, her hands clasp over her mouth.   
  
"What do you mean?  Jowan isn't a blood mage," Jalyn whispers furiously.  She knows the rumours, that Jowan is too weak to pass his Harrowing without blood magic.  But they're wrong, they have to be.  She believes in him, and she knows he's stronger than even he believes.   
  
Melina bites her lip, as if she isn't sure she wants to speak.  "I can feel it.  He has...  dabbled.  I felt it once, in the library.  After everyone went to bed. " Her voice is soft, and she never meets Jalyn's eyes as she speaks.  Her hands twist around the fabric of her sleeve until it tears, a small rip across the worn thing.   
  
Jalyn lets out a small growl, anger running hot through her veins.  “You’re lying,” she grits out, heart fluttering in panic.   
  
Jowan’s face flashes before her mind’s eye.  The way he tugs his sleeves down low across his wrists.  The embarrassed way he laughs whenever she brings it up.  Doubt slithers cruelly into her heart, a poisonous tendril poking through her defenses.   
  
She covers her ears and shakes her head, her hair wisping around her face as she struggles not to see it, not to know.  “You’re wrong, you have to be wrong!”  she cries, voice soft, scared.   
  
A warm hand settles on her shoulder but she jerks away, refusing to be comforted.  “No, the templars are making you say this, aren’t they?”  she asks, glaring at Melina.   
  
Because believing the templars are forcing Mels to lie is easier than realizing Jowan is a blood mage.   
  
Melina whispers, “No,” and Jalyn’s hand flies forward.  The sound of skin striking skin echoes in the narrow hallway and a bright red mark lingers on Melina’s cheek as mages look on, whispering amongst themselves.   
  
Fresh tears roll down the shem’s cheeks.  Jalyn’s first impulse is to comfort her, wrap her in her arms and dry the tears.  But anger makes her step away, eyes still narrowed.   
  
She leaves Melina there, standing in the corridor alone, and tears threaten to overwhelm her as she remembers the first time they had ever met.   
  
_ Her curls are wrapped in a noble fashion atop her head.  Her thumb is in her mouth as she stares, her big golden-brown eyes full of fear. A small bruise covers her left eye. _   
  
_ Jalyn glares down at the younger girl.  “What're ya cryin’ for?”  she asks. _   
  
_ She sniffles before curtseying.  “I miss my momma,”  she answers simply, voice soft and sweet. _   
  
_ Jalyn laughs, causing the shem girl to wrinkle her brows and stare up at her, clearly confused.  “Sorry.  Just, no one's ever curtsied ta me before,”  she says. _   
  
_ The girl smiles and grabs her hand.  “Will you be my friend, then?”  she asks. _   
  
_ Jalyn raises an eyebrow, pulling her hand away.  “W'at’s this?  Why? ” _   
  
_ “Because I’m lonely and you are, too.” _   
  
Jalyn stalks into an abandoned study room, brushing the tears from her eyes as she sits down, bracing her back against a wall.  The cold stone floor causes her to shiver in her thin, patchwork robes and she huddles her arms around her knees.  Those words had bonded them together.  Jalyn had trusted no one better than her shy human friend.   
  
But the bloody templars ruin everything.  She hides herself in a corner, tucking her legs in close to her chest.  Her heart is pounding like mad, beating against her ribs.  She closes her eyes.  She doesn’t want to remember.  She doesn’t want to think or feel or anything.   
  
This is what the templars do to mages.  Sometimes, even Tranquility sounds like a relief.  To not feel this fear…  what would that even be like?  To not love Jowan…   
  
And she can’t decide if that would be better or worse.   
  


  
~*~*~

  
  
  
Cullen sits across from Melina, brow furrowed as he concentrates on the carefully carved figures on the board.  His eyes catch in the candlelight and Melina can’t help but stare.  She’s supposed to be focusing, practising her concentration. Wynne said it would help her build her shields, if she could focus more.   
  
He looks up and a blush colours his cheeks.  “Miss Melina?”  She can feel a soft tender ache, sliding over her with a caressing warmth.   
  
Cullen says her name again and a shiver runs down her spine.  She bites her inner cheek, shame flooding her whole body.  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t paying attention,”  she whispers.   
  
He smiles, and it’s a kind and understanding smile.  “Y-you’re just nervous, is all, Miss.  Don’t worry, we-we’ll take it slow, so you can learn. ”   
  
She allows herself a tiny smile in response.  “Thank you.  You are too kind, Ser Cullen. ”   
  
He hesitates before placing his hand on top of hers.  It’s warm and solid, and she wishes she could hold it in her own.  His hand rests there for but a moment before vanishing, leaving her feeling suddenly cold.  Even still, he smiles at her, though they both know he shouldn’t.   
  
He nods at the board and she moves one of the pieces, causing him to chuckle.  He moves one of his own, and she loses herself in watching him again.   
  
The game is over before she realizes it.  She has lost, but it doesn’t bother her.  Her eyes dart around the library, for once grateful it's empty.  She stands, hands shaking with nerves.  She walks to stand at his side, smiling when he looks up at her with furrowed brows.   
  
“Thank you, Ser Cullen,”  she says, bending down and pressing a quick kiss against his cheek.   
  
A blush colours both of their cheeks but she leaves before he can respond.  Her feet carry her to the Chantry, where she kneels to confess her sins.   
  
She recites the Maker’s words along with the Revered Mother, letting the words wash over and through her, cleansing her of her own wicked thoughts and deeds.   
  
Out of the corner of her eye, she catches sight of Keili kneeling in front of the statue of Andraste.  She’s praying, her lips forming each word carefully and dutifully, but her eyes are trained on Lily, instead.  The mage watches the Sister with doleful eyes.  Melina blushes, the intimacy of Keili’s emotions brushing up against her.   
  
She blinks, looking away to focus on the Revered Mother, calmly sitting in her worn rocker chair.  Children gather around her feet, listening with waning attention as she reads from the Chant of Light the stories of magic’s evil.  The woman’s face is weather-tanned and wrinkled,  and Melina can feel a warmth coming from her.  She drowns herself in the comforting gaze, praying no one will ever know her sins.   
  


  
~*~*~

  
  
  
The walls twist and buckle, breaking down and around Jalyn, crumbling and distorting.  A high-pitched keening vibrates against her eardrums and her heart pounds in response.  Fear makes sweat trickle down the back of her neck.  Why was this happening?  It’s too soon for her Harrowing. It wasn't supposed to happen for another year.   
  
Today she turns seventeen.  The Knight-commander said Irving insisted she's ready.  Jalyn shivers as she takes in the shifting form of the Fade.  She can hear distant echoing whispers that blow like a hot wind across her skin.   
  
"Child of Shartan…"  a voice growls, and the sound hisses its way into her ear.   
  
"Who're ya?  Go away, I'm not 'fraid of ya! " she cries out, eyes darting around wildly.   
  
The voice laughs and she shivers.  Smoke crawls across the ground and wraps itself around her ankles.  It twists up her legs, around her waist, and through her hair.  She screams, trying to bat it away but her hands just swipe uselessly through the smoky tendrils.   
  
"Shit!  What're ya?  Some kind of demon? " She backs up and the smoke leaves her, wafting over to hover, formless, in front of her.  It hurts to focus on its ever-changing shape, the swirling colours of gray and black vapor is too confusing.  Like liquid melting into smoke, never solid, never quite real.   
  
She looks away and blinks back tears from her eyes as the smell burns at her nostrils.  Rancid and sweet, it stings and cloys at her senses, until her thoughts begin blurring together, consumed by the demon creature before her.   
  
"No!"  she shouts, clutching at her hair, tugging until it hurts.  She focuses all her energy in on herself, pulling up a barrier around her mind, and closing her eyes.   
  
"Andraste guide me, Andraste protect me, I am free of sin.  Andraste, lend me aide, for I walk in the Maker's light… "she whispers the prayer out of memory, but only part of her heart draws faith from it.   
  
She feels a prickly-soft sensation against her bare feet and opens her eyes, risking a glance down.  Her eyes widen as she takes in the bright green grass and the smell of what she remembers as fresh flowers.  Birds chirp and she looks up at the sky.  It's bright blue and ripples with grays and purples and even shades of pink.  Was this supposed to be a  sunset?  She stares, mouth slightly agape.   
  
She takes a hesitant step forward but startles when she hears a soft laughing sound.   
  
She whips her head around, only to see nothing there.  "Melina?  Jowan?  Is that you? " she calls out, confusion clouding her brain.   
  
Another laugh, sounding like the tinkling of bells, and Jalyn spins, searching wildly for the source.  "This isn't funny, you whoever-ya-are!  Don't fool around, yeah? "she says, and her voice wavers slightly.  Where is she again?  She had been doing…  something.  But what?   
  
"Follow meeee, child of Ssshartan," a voice whispers, and it glides against her skin like silk.   
  
She takes a hesitant step forward before another voice whispers.  "Don't follow it!  It wants…  to hurt, to rip.  Don't…  watch out! " it cries, the cadence high-pitched but soothing.   
  
She turns, slowly, and blinks in the direction she thinks the second voice had come from.  "What?  Who're ya, now? " she asks, and her voice is heavy with lethargy.   
  
A loud growling sound echoing behind her causes her to jump, eyes blinking rapidly. "Quick, follow me!"  the second voice cries, sounding frantic.   
  
She freezes, fear keeping her inert.  She closes her eyes, drawing up her will, using it to clear the fog from her mind.  In this brief moment of clarity, a thought rings out:  it's a trick.  And then it’s gone and she can't think again, heavy and weighted by fear and indecision.   
  
"I can guide you to safety…"   
  
_ It's a trick. _   
  
"Come, hurry…"   
  
_ It's a trick. _   
  
She turns away from both voices and stares blankly toward a single line of trees in the distance.   
  
"No, a wicked demon waits for you there…"   
  
_ It's.  A. Trick. _   
  
She steps forward as a blinding pain in her forehead almost takes her to her knees.  She bites her inner cheek, letting the warm, metallic blood fill her mouth.  Focusing on the pain, she takes another step forward, and then another and another until the pain in her head lessens;  her vision clearing slowly.   
  
The trees come rushing toward her, as if the land itself had gained will through her and moved them closer.   
  
"Well done…"  a voice whispers in her ear.  The muted tones of the Fade shift and dwindle away, withering away into darkness.  She can feel herself falling, slowly, as if time has ceased with her still moving.  She closes her eyes against a sudden wave of nausea that leaves her dizzy.   
  
Voices murmur around her.  The earthy smell of incense wafts toward her nose and she breaths deep.   
  
She opens her eyes to templars standing around her.  She blinks, groaning, a dull ache in her head pounding to life.  "Is it over?"  she mumbles.   
  
She catches the eyes of Irving, hovering in the background.  He nods, and she replies with a grim sort of smile.   
  
Now, any dreams of escaping this Maker-forsaken place will be shipped far away, in another land.  Her own blood and magic, mixed in a vial and sealed away.  Even her blood betrays her.   
  



	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> art by: MIlkytwilight.deviantart.com

Long shadows drape across the floor, made darker by the dimness of the candlelight. The bookshelves make strange, crooked shapes that blur some of the edges of the board. It's been six months, but it's felt like a wonderful day-dream to Melina.

Anger, fear, and hate fill the circle until it feels full to burst. It normally hangs off her in thick tendrils, like black cobwebs clinging to her skin. But not the nights she gets to spend playing the strategy game with Ser Cullen. She still doesn't really understand more than the basics of the game, but she doesn't mind, either.

She smiles, leaning on her hands, round stomach pressing against the table. Soft, warm emotions come from Ser Cullen in gentle waves like silk against her skin. His brow furrowed in concentration; she can't help but think how handsome he looks in the soft light of the candles. He looks up, blinking, and meets her eyes.

"Miss Mel-Mellie?" he asks, voice hesitant, rubbing the back of his neck.

She smiles, the nickname only he calls her causing a small blush to colour her cheeks. It had started because of his stutter, the way he would say her name. She told him she liked it, and it became what he called her when they were alone.

"I'm sorry, I wasn't paying attention again, was I?" She ducks her head, her tangle of curls hiding her face.

She hears the ruffling of fabric, as if someone is shifting in their chair. "You don't have to apologize, Miss. I-I I'm sure this is rather dull for you, is-isn't it?"

She looks up, shaking her head back and forth. "Oh no, Ser Cullen, it wasn't that at all! I was just thinking -" She stops, firmly clamping one hand over her mouth. She shouldn't say anything more. She shouldn't tell him that she's really thinking about him, and what it might feel like to kiss him, the way Jalyn kisses Jowan.

She knows her cheeks are reddening again at the thought but keeps her lips closed tight. Ser Cullen raises a brow at her, eyes shining in the light, a strange but pleasant feeling tickling against the back of her neck. "Are you alright?" he asks, the concern warming her heart.

She nods. "I'm sorry," she finally squeaks out.

Cullen frowns, getting to his feet. He walks over and sits down next to her, sliding the other chair to face her at an angle. "Miss Mellie, you re-really don't have to apologize so much," he whispers. He stares at her a moment before reaching up to tuck a bit of her wild curls behind her ear. "Beautiful," he says, cheeks reddening immediately. 

He jerks back, quickly getting to his feet and moving away. He mumbles something Melina can't hear, rubbing the back of his neck. "I should go," he mumbles, before walking away so quickly it's almost a run.

She sits there afterward, fingertips lightly touching the spot on her cheek that his knuckles had brushed as he'd pulled away. Beautiful? He hadn't meant her, had he? For months, she has felt a sweetness to his emotions, something tender and soft she doesn't recognize. Is that tenderness because of her? She shakes her head, flushed. No, it can't be. She shouldn't let herself think such thoughts.

She gets to her feet and makes her way to the Chantry. When she arrives, the place is empty. Strange, she thinks, tiptoeing toward the altar. She kneels down, crossing her heart and folding her hands. "Maker hear my prayer. Cleanse my soul of this wicked thought, this impure dream that's taken root in my heart. O Creator, see me kneel: for I would walk only where You bid me, stand only in places You have blessed, and sing only the words You place in my throat. Please, O Maker, cleanse away my impurity, make me clean in Your image once more," she whispers, meaning every word.

A soft scraping sound turns her head, eyes wide. She stares into the shadows, eyes adjusting to the low light in the corner. She gasps, covering her mouth with one hand, when the figures come into clarity. "Keili!" she says, cheeks burning.

She had been so distracted by her own emotions, her own wish to repent, that she hadn't noticed anyone else nearby. Keili moves to the left, shifting her body so that the woman she's with comes into a clearer view, as well. Shock hits Melina hard as she takes in the woman's light brown hair and golden brown eyes, her soft reddish pink Chantry robes crooked and wrinkled.  

Lily's eyes are wide as she stares at Melina. "Please, you can't tell! Th-they'll turn her Tranquil for this, I'm sure of it," she exclaims, tone pleading and afraid. A cold chill causes Melina to shiver, and she knows the bitter feeling of desperation well.

Keili shrugs. "Maybe I should be Tranquil. I am a sinner. I have defiled the Chantry and the Maker; first by being a mage and then for loving you." Her emotions are cold, desolate, like an ice spell Melina failed to block. 

Lily frowns; warm and cold tendrils reach out and brush against Melina. "That's not true. I wish you wouldn't talk like that, love. It's not right that they do this, that they make you think this way. The Maker has room in his heart for all."

Melina tilts her head. "D-do you really believe that, Sister?" she asks, wringing her hands.

Lily nods, lips pressed in a firm line. "Yes. I know it for a fact. The Maker loves us all, even mages."

Footsteps alert them to someone entering the room. "What about elves? Dwarves? Those big horned beasts, Qun-ari whatsit, does he love them, too?" Melina turns, recognizing Jalyn's voice immediately. "Blood mages? Apostates? Does he really love everyone or are you just so caught up in your own lust that you're suddenly willing to break the rules?"

Lily frowns harder. "That isn't what this is! I love Keili!"

Keili looks at her, a look of surprise and something else on her face. It feels strange, like an odd tingling at the base of Melina's skull; another emotion she can't name. "You do? Well, that's not going to go over well with Irving," Keili says. "I doubt the Maker will approve, either.  _Magic exists to serve man, and never to rule over him. Foul and corrupt are they who have taken His gift and turned it against His children. They shall be named Maleficar, accursed ones. They shall find no rest in this world or beyond,_" she recites, voice bland and without emotion.  
  
Jalyn scoffs, mouth opening to reply but Lily speaks first, and her voice is soft and sad, gentle waves pushing out. " _All men are the work of our Maker's Hands, from the lowest slaves to the highest kings. Those who bring harm without provocation to the least of His children are hated and accursed by the Maker._ I know the Chant of Light, Keili," she whispers. "And I know the Maker has room for you. I just know it."

Jalyn's jaw drops, lips parted as she stares. "You truly believe that? What are you playing at?" she asks, voice filled with suspicion that skips along Melina's skin in a fiery dance. 

Lilly narrows her eyes at the elven girl. "Nothing, Enchanter Surana, I'm not "playing" at anything. I was trying to have a moment alone with my love, that's all. Do you plan to tell Irving or Greagoir about this?" she asks, meeting her gaze head on.

Melina furrows her brows. "Enchanter? Then it  _is_ true, you took your Harrowing early?"

Jalyn glances at her before turning back to Lily. "No,  _sister,_ I won't be saying anything. I don't care what you or Keili do. And you won't have to worry about her," she replies, jerking a thumb in Melina's direction. "She just  _loves_ the Chantry and its minions," she continues, tone scathing. Jalyn turns on her heel, her ragged robes swishing as she walks.

Melina watches her go, trying to build a wall between her and the chaos she feels coming from her friend. "I won't say anything, but- I don't think you should continue. It isn't right for us to tempt them from their duties," Melina whispers, still staring at the doorway Jalyn has just exited through. "Maker watch over you," she adds, and even she isn't really sure who she's speaking to.

 

~*~*~

 

The stone is cold and hard beneath Jalyn as she sits with her back against a wall, hiding in the shadows. A deep breath in, and then out again, and she tucks a strand of her long, straight hair behind her pointed ear.

Jalyn bites her lip as she hears a soft scuttling, only releasing her breath when the beady eyes of a mouse peek out at her. Its body is thin, ribs poking out even in the dim light of the dying candles. The gleam in its eyes is faded and milky, its fur patchy.

It darts around the edges of the circular room, squeaking as it scratches for food in the cracks only to find it bare. She takes a piece of biscuit from her pocket, staring at it.

"You're small, like me, but you still survive," she whispers. "I'll survive, too." She holds out her hand, a tiny piece of the biscuit on the tips of her fingers.

It freezes, beady eyes fixed on the food or the hand or the movement, she isn't really sure, its whiskers twitching. 

She moves her hand a little, wiggling the morsel at it. "Come on, I ain't gonna hurt ya," she mumbles.

It backs away a little and she sighs, dropping her arm. "Yeah, I guess I'm near the equivalent of a templar to you, huh? Though I ain't as bad as a cat, right?" She tosses the piece of biscuit toward him, but not too close that it startles it. "Ya know, me and you got a lot in common, actually. No way out, but staying here is a slow death, too."

She watches as it moves toward the food, cautious. It picks the biscuit up between its tiny paws, nippling quickly. The food is gone in an instant and Jalyn can't stop from smiling. "That's it. Don't give up. We gotta be able to beat this place, you and me." 

A soft whistle sounding only vaguely like the birds Jalyn remembers from the Denerim Alienage reaches her ears. She wonders for a second how her cousins, Maroth, Soris, and Shianni, are doing; if they're all still as close as when they were kids together, before forcing her attention back to the present.

She whistles back, sounding at least a little more birdlike, or so she likes to believe. Anders steps out of the shadows, his lanky frame nervous and a little twitchy.

She smirks. "What's the problem, Anders? Scared?"

He snorts. "Not remotely," he replies, his voice firm and a bit sarcastic. "I'm just not fond of meeting with blood mages in secret."

Jalyn frowns at his words. "Blood mage? Who says it?"

Anders shrugs, walking to lean against the wall near her, scaring the mouse away to its hole. "Everybody? I dunno. Just what people say, I guess." He scuffs his foot along the ground before looking up at her, golden brown eyes shining through his messy blonde hair. "It's not true. I'm a Spirit Healer. You know that means I'm an empath. I'd have felt it, if you were a blood mage."

"Are you the only one that can do this?" She bites her lip, harder this time.  _Does he know if Jowan is?_

He raises a brow at her. "Well, I know you can't be asking if we have other Spirit Healers. We do, though only two. Your friend, and Enchanter Wynne. Regular healers can't feel like we do. If you're asking if the templars can tell?" He shrugs now, running his fingers through his hair. It's long, hanging to his shoulders, and free today of his usual ponytail. "I dunno. They don't really teach us everything they can do, ya know? I'd guess it would depend on the templar though, and it the mage was actively performing blood magis. They don't all have the same strength." He shudders when he says this, making Jalyn frown.

"Then, how do you know that?" she asks, resting her chin on her knees.

He doesn't look at her, his gaze somewhere far away. "Their smite doesn't all feel the same. Some hurts more."

She opens her eyes wide, staring at him as shock runs through her body. "Why do you keep trying to escape?"

He turns to meet her gaze, unblinking. "Because I want to hide away somewhere far away where no one can find me and no one can be hurt by me." His tone is flat, empty of emotion, and she wonders what he's hiding.

But she doesn't pry. Here, everyone has their secrets. "I want to help everyone escape," she says, turning her gaze to the wall, eyes locked on the mouse-hole. "Every mage in Thedas. Free to be and love and live like everyone else."

He shakes his head, an incredulous expression on his face. "That's a wonderful idea, but does it work? _Can_ it work?"

She shrugs, her thin shoulders almost poking through the threadbare fabric. A patch covers her elbow and Jalyn absent-mindedly picks at the stitching. "It's worth tryin'."

He looks up, rolling his eyes toward the ceiling. "It sounds like it would cause a lot of death, if we all tried to be free."

Jalyn clenches her fists. "So, what? Only you and a few others who manage to escape this void get be free? What the frig is that? You sound like a coward," she spits, tone harsh.

Anders frowns, brows furrowed tight. "You'd rather risk a war?"

"It doesn't have to be a war!" she insists. "We can go somewhere else, somewhere far away from other people." Her voice climbs a bit, getting higher as she speaks, more impassioned. "For all the mage children that haven't been taken from their homes yet, shouldn't we at least try?"

A soft sigh escapes his lips as he leans his head back, face fading into the shadows. "I dunno," he answers.

And really, it's the only answer either of them can ever hope to have here.

 

~*~*~

 

Jowan's hand is warm in hers. She meets his eyes, letting her gaze soften. He steps closer when she smiles, his own lips curving up. In a quick motion, she darts her other hand forward, yanking up the sleeve of his robe.

Her heart hits her stomach and she's grateful the shadows will hide them should a templar wander by. "Shit," she whispers, voice wavering.

A single bright red slash stands out in vast relief against the pale grayness of Jowan's skin, tiny faded scars surrounding it. Her hands shake and she steps away, shaking her head back and forth in quick snaps. "Shit," she repeats.

Jowan reaches for her, eyes pleading and already filling with tears. "I only dabbled, love, I promise it! I only dabbled a little! Please, don't be angry, I just wanted to protect you," he says, and she can hear the begging in his tone.

She frowns, brows furrowing. "Protect me? Are you completely daft, then? That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard," she grumbles, thin arms crossed against her flat chest. "Don't do that shit again, okay?" 

His eyes open wide and he freezes, hesitant in his motions. "Can you forgive me?" he asks, wringing his hands.

She looks away but nods her head, concentrating on the crack in a tile. Suddenly his hands are cupping her face, turning her to look at him. He meets her eyes, and her heart skips a beat. She frowns, pulling away. "Too close," she mutters.

He bends down, leaning his ear toward her. "What was that, love?" he asks.

She shakes her head, pushing on his chest. "Go on, I have to meet with Irving. Leave first, and I'll wait."

He pauses before darting in quickly, pressing a dry kiss against her cheek. "I love you," he says. He runs off before she can respond.

She presses her lips in a firm line, unhappy with the way her heart flutters when he says those words. "Shit," she says again, this time with a sigh.

It's too dangerous, the way her hearts is beginning to beat just for him.

 

~*~*~

 

Irving sits across from her, hands folded neatly in his lap, eyes blank. "Hello, child,"he says, deep voice slow and irritating. 

She raises a brow. "I'm still a child then, even after my Harrowing? Or are you being patronizing?" She knows her tone is accusing, and that he's the First Enchanter, but part of her doesn't care. And that part is large enough to let her lips form the words to contradict his false nurturing nature.

Irving frowns, beard twitching. "Impudent brat," he grumbles. "I brought you here for a purpose. An important one."

Jalyn raises a brow, amused she's managed to annoy him. "Oh?" she asks, gesturing for him to continue, which only makes him frown harder.

"The empath, Amell, I am afraid she's been corrupted by a templar recruit." He pauses, beady eyes watching her, cheekbones protruding sharply beneath his beard.

His nose twitches a moment and she frowns, something tugging at the edges of her memory. She shakes it off, focusing on what he had said, instead. "Amell? You mean Melina? You're joking; corrupted? She's so pure, a friggin fade spirit's gonna whisk her away to the Maker's side when she dies as the long-lost granddaughter of Andraste or something," she replies, rolling her eyes.

He raises a brow. "That is not dissimilar from what Enchanter Wynne has said," he admits.

"There ya go, she's one of them feeling mages. She'd know, yeah? Or ask that other kid, Anders."

Irving shifts, crossing one leg over the other. "You mean the boy who wishes to escape and live far away from here?" he asks.

She jerks forward. "How'd you hear that?" she asks, voice low.

He shrugs, nose twitching in a suspiciously mouse like manner. "I have many ways of finding out what the mages of our circle are doing, child," he says, his voice returning to that annoyingly slow pace.

She resists the urge to slap him. It would only land her in solitary, or worse, depending on the templar put to punishing her.

"I hate you," she says with venom dripping from each word. 

His eyes widen. He nods his head slowly. "But not Amell? Interesting. So you would not be interested in helping me, even if it involved saving your... friend?"

She leans back, body shaking lightly with suppressed anger. "What do you mean, save her?"

 

~*~*~

 

Melina looks up into Cullen's warm gaze, heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly beneath her ribs.  His tongue darts out, wetting his lips, and she can tell her feels nervous. "Ser Cullen?" she asks, stepping forward, hand resting on his arms.

He glances down at her hand a moment before meeting her gaze again. "M-miss Mellie, Enchanter Uldred sent me to you f-for, p-pardon my asking Miss, but I damaged my shoulder in training and-"

She gasps, opening up the barrier she keeps erected that prevents the more negative emotions that float around the circle tower from entering her mind. She's hit with strong pain in his shoulder; surprised to see he isn't even flinching. "You're in pain, I'm so sorry," she says, clutching his shirt sleeve. "Please, I- I can help, if Enchanter Uldred says I'm allowed to." She bites her lip, unsure despite her brave words. She hasn't taken her harrowing yet, what if she fails? It's a simple healing spell, but...

She shakes her head, curls tossing around. No, she mustn't think that way. She guides Ser Cullen to a bench, and gently cradles his shoulder between her hands, eyes closing.

She pours her energy through her hands and into his shoulder, healing the torn muscle she can feel. Softly, she eases the pain, erasing any traces of bruising. Her lips part as she furrows her brow, focusing on healing and not hurting. They're so close, and it's easy for mages to confuse the two if they aren't strong enough.

She slowly opens her eyes, lashes fluttering against her round cheeks for a moment. Ser Cullen's staring at her face, a soft expression on his face. "By the M-maker you're most beautiful, Miss," he whispers. "I- I'm sorry for being so forward," he continues, blushing as he rubs the back of his neck.

Her own cheeks are equally warm as she leans forward, pressing her lips gently against his. A simple, brief press of lips, and she can feel his shock at her action. 

He jerks a back, face red as an apple. "I-I-I should, I mean, that is we sh-shouldn't.... you're a m-mage and I'm a temp-templar, I- have to-" He stops abruptly, turning on his heel and quickly walking away.

Warm and hot waves wash over her, causing things low in her stomach to tingle. What was this? This strange new thing she's feeling? She touches her fingertips to her lips. 

_Is this... love?_


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings, the last "section" or scene has rape/abuse triggers. The scene separator of ~*~*~ will be bolded and underlined right before that scene, which is the last one, so feel free to skip that one if you need to.

Jalyn's blood boils with anger. She clenches her fists together as Irving's words repeat themselves in her head.  _ If you can catch the Templar who is corrupting her, then we can save your friend. We have to show Greagoir that the templars are as easily corrupted as the mages. _

But Jalyn isn't that foolish. She knows Irving has something up his sleeve. She slams her fist into a wall, and winces as the pain shoots through her knuckles and up her arm. Blood speckles against the wall where her fist hit and she can hear the clanking of Templar armour rushing in to check the source of the noise. She scowls, brows pinching together in a dark line above her green eyes, as she sees who it is.

"Wh-what happened? I heard a-a crashing sound," Cullen stutters, and Jalyn rolls her eyes.

She peers up at him, sneering. "Quick, you just missed a mage escaping through the wall," she quips.

He frowns down at her and Jalyn wonders what her friend sees in the recruit. Jalyn sighs, crossing her arms over her chest. "I punched a wall. Do you plan on reporting me now?" she challenges.

He slowly shakes his head. "N-no, Enchanter Surana. Your hand is bleeding. Y-you should see a healer," he says, turning to leave.

She raises her brows in shock. Concern? From a templar? "What're you playin' at?" she accuses, not trusting any man in silver armour.

He doesn't look at her as he pauses in the doorway. He seems to contemplate her question for a moment. "I am n-not playing, Enchanter. Miss Amell can heal your hand." He pauses again. "I think she m-m-misses you," he adds before exiting the room, leaving Jalyn to stand there with her mouth hanging open.

She looks down at her hand, flexing the fingers and studying her knuckles. Before she can contemplate his words, she hears shouting from the corridor. She runs out, curiosity prickling at her. A templar runs into her, and she falls to the ground. Her knees and palms hit the ground with a hard smack. She looks up, glaring, surprised to see that most of the templars seem to be running in the same direction.

 

~*~*~

 

Melina shifts, wringing her hands, as she stands in front of Knight-Commander Greagoir. "You sent for me, Ser?" she asks, curtseying. 

He looks down at her, his expression blank and his emotions hidden behind an iron will. She doesn't dare try to breach this barrier, to do so would be foolish indeed. "Yes. How are your sessions with Recruit Cullen coming along? I hear from Senior Enchanter Wynne your studies are improving," he replies, and his expression seems to change slightly at her mentor's name. But it's fleeting and gone before she can give it a second thought.

She nods, chewing on her bottom lip. "Yes, Ser. The strategy game is helping my concentration. Thank you, Ser," she answers, curtseying again.

He frowns. "Why do you do that, girl?" he demands to know, his tone brisk and harsh.

Melina's cheeks turn bright red as she twists the fabric of her robes in her plump hands. "I'm sorry, Ser." Flashes of her mother, long curls pinned elegantly around her head, dipping low to greet guests, appear in her mind. "I- I think my mother used to do it. I- I'll try not to, Ser."

Greagoir's expression softens momentarily. "So kind, so much like she was..." he mutters, running his fingers his hair.

She crinkles her brow, peering up at him. "I'm sorry, Ser? What was that?" she asks, confused.

He shakes his head before frowning again. "Nothing, child. And the curtseying does not bother me so don't stop on my account," he says, and she swears his voice is gentler, just a touch, than it was before. "Wynne says your healing abilities are growing stronger. I'm pleased to hear this. We need a more reliable healer here, since Anders keeps escaping."

Her eyes grow wide and she takes a small step forward. "Anders? He's... gone, again?" She chews her bottom lip, looking up at Greagoir. "He's so scared..." she says, without meaning to.

At her words, Greagoir seems to grow more tired, an exhausted expression covering his face. "I know, child."

"You- you won't make him Tranquil, will you? When you find him?"

Greagoir shakes his head slowly. She can feel something, a soft tenderness that she barely recognizes, before his shields come slamming down into place again. "No. We can't afford to lose such a promising healer," he replies, but Melina can still feel traces of his emotion.

It reminds her of her mother.

 

~*~*~

 

Jalyn peers up at Senior Enchanter Uldred, a cross expression darkening her eyes. "You bastard. It was you, wasn't it? You taught Jowan blood magic," she accuses, venom dripping from every word. She clenches her fists, keeping her voice low so as not to be overheard. 

Uldred peers down his nose at her. "Oh? And how can you be so certain of this, little elf?"

She resists the urge to smack him, knowing it will probably only land her in hot water with the templars and the Senior mage staff. "You bastard. I  _saw_ you. You were teaching that other elf, Rev or whatever the void he's called. You told him  _it wasn't dangerous,_ you rotten snake _._ "

His expression is cool as he flicks an imaginary speck of dirt from his robes. "This is unnecessary. Blood magic is not inherently dangerous. A weak mind is dangerous. The templars are dangerous. Blood magic is the key to our freedom, little elf, or do you enjoy being trapped in this Maker-forsaken tower?"

She hesitates. "Freedom?" she whispers. But the moment the thought enters, it leaves again and she shakes her head. "No, that isn't the way. It's dangerous. I should report  _you_  to that crotchety old fool," she mutters.

Uldred laughs and the sound slides against her skin like oil. She shivers, unnerved. "Oh? Report me to Irving? Why, even if they believed you, what do you think they would do to your  _precious_  Jowan then? All my pupils would be in the same danger, or at least the ones I called out as my associates."

Her heartbeat stops, blood running cold in her veins. "You wouldn't..." But she can tell by his expression that he would. "You've done that all along, haven't you? Throwing the apostates you decide are lower than you to keep suspicion off yourself. You son of a bitch..." The realization hits her hard, almost staggering her. She wants to swing, to hit and pummel until Uldred is a bloody mess on the floor but she doesn't. "You betrayed your own!"

He scoffs, turning away. "I betrayed nothing. A few cogs must be sacrificed if we're to see true freedom, Surana."

He leaves and it's all Jalyn can do to keep from chasing after him, from using her own magic to strike a blow against him. But she's powerless. If she attacks, even though he's the blood mage and the maleficar, it will be she who's punished. Hopeless, she sinks to the floor, her knees hitting the hard stone with a soft thud. Jowan's face is forefront in her mind. Tears trickle down her cheeks and there's nothing she can do to stop them from falling.

Just like there's nothing she can do to save her love.

 

~*~*~

 

The moon is high in the dark coloured sky, surrounded by brightly lit stars that glimmer and gleam, looking like hope in an endless sea of darkness. The water shimmers, reflecting the moon back at itself, slightly distorted but beautiful. The tower stands in the center, tall and ominous in the dark of night. The moon weaves a web filled with silence and dreams, a dimly lit lie. The water in Lake Calenhad is like black-watered silk, so lovely in its simplicity that one would almost forget the water seems to come from the tears of the trapped.

Melina smiles as she looks down at her drawing; an image of the Tower as she had first seen it as a small child. The food is bland as she chews, ignoring the chatter around her. Niall & Evelina sit across from her, talking about which primal skills are more important to learn. She drowns them out as her hand lightly sketches, furrowing her brow in concentration. She gains a sort of peace from drawing, but she wishes she had more inspiration to draw from. All she knows is Kinloch Hold, the desperate faces of the mages here, and glittering silver armour. She isn't sure what rolling hills of green might really look like, or endless fields of snow.  She isn't even sure how to draw the petals of a flower because they never bring flowers inside the circle. She only knows the words people use to describe them in the pretty books Wynne gives her.

She chews on the tip of her feather quill, lips pulled down in a pert frown. It looks so sad, she thinks to herself. She goes to crumple the paper when a shadow covers the table. She looks up and, surprised to see Ser Cullen standing there, staring intently at her picture.

"Hello, Ser Cullen!" she says, standing and curtseying. 

He nods at her. "T-that is a pre-pretty drawing, Miss Melina," he says, lips turning upwards in a tiny smile that makes Melina's heart skip a beat.

She beams up at him, and feels a warmth spreading through her body. She isn't sure if it's coming from him, or merely a reflection of her own emotions. "Thank you, Ser," she replies. 

Evelina exchanges a glance with Niall. "Yes, what a  _pretty_ drawing, Mels. Maybe Ser Cullen would like to keep it, since it's such a  _pretty drawing_ ," she replies, ending her sentence with a giggle.

Niall kicks her under the table. "Don't," he warns, eyes flickering to the nearby templars standing by the wall.

Evelina shrugs, her newly appointed Enchanter robes slipping off her shoulder. "What? It was just a thought," she says. "Anyway, I have the children to attend to today. If you'll excuse me," she continues, standing and grabbing her food tray. Her robes swish as she walks, her long brown ponytail swaying against her back.

Niall looks apologetically at Melina. "She's in a mood today, Mels. Sorry," he mumbles getting to his feet. He glances nervously at Cullen, who is blushing furiously. He then dashes after Evelina, food tray left forgotten.

Before Melina can say anything to the nervous recruit in front of her, she hears shouting from the hallway. "What're you on about?" Melina recognizes Jalyn's voice instantly, and it's full of anger.

Eyes wide, she gets up from the table and runs out to the hallway, heart in her throat. She can hear Cullen's hesitant clanking behind her, but it doesn't matter. Fear is making her hands tremble. She can feel Jalyn's anger, Irving's uncertainty, and something else. Something darker, more malicious, just around the corner...

She stops cold in her tracks as the scene comes into view. Jalyn is standing there, surrounded by a half circle of templars, hands clenched tightly into fists. Irving is there, a frown on his aging face, and so is Greagoir, also frowning. But Jalyn isn't looking at any of them. Her gaze narrowed, focusing on Senior Enchanter Uldred.

"You bastard! He's lying, he is!" Jalyn growls, her Denerim accent growing stronger the angrier she gets.

Greagoir crosses his arms. "So you're claiming you had no part in Anders' escape? Why should we believe you, girl?" he says, and Melina's relieved to hear his voice is calm.

Jalyn sneers up at him. "Course' I didn't. If I was gonna help him escape, why would I still be here?"

Melina steps forward, caught between wanting to help her friend and not wanting to cause more trouble. "Knight-Commander, I- I," she begins, voice soft and unsure.

He glances at her, short beard twitching. "What is, Amell? I'm quite busy now." 

The emotions in the air make her stomach churn. Fear for her friend rocks her body, causing her cheeks to turn pink and her eyes to widen. "Jalyn didn't do it! I know she didn't, she just wouldn't," she blurts out, the words mixing together in a rush.

Jalyn looks at her, her own eyes holding her surprise. Melina struggles not to throw up as Uldred's emotions slam into her. They're hot, and they burn along her skin until it almost rips a scream from her lips. She bites her tongue, forcing herself not to look at him. She can feel it. A dark spot of corruption.  _Blood magic?_ She turns slowly to meet his gaze, feeling powerless. A Senior Enchanter... and blood magic? No, she has to be wrong. She's sensing it wrong, confusing his anger for blood magic. That has to be it. Surely, Anders or Wynne would have noticed before she, if he is truly a blood mage...

She shakes her head, trying not to think about that fleeting touch of corruption she had felt a moment ago. She turns back to Greagoir, eyes pleading. "Jalyn is innocent, please don't punish her," she whispers, stepping forward again. 

He frowns down at her. "We have the word of Senior Enchanter that heard her conspiring with Anders to escape."

Melina shakes her head again, more firmly this time. "No, he must be lying or- or he heard wrong. Jalyn isn't like that!" she insists. 

"Shem," Jalyn whispers, and Melina turns to look at her. She doesn't say anything else but Melina can feel the warmth from her, and the surprise.

Uldred snorts derisively. "This mage must be in on it, as well, clearly."

Jalyn's sudden anger bursts out in a hot wave. "Don't you  _dare_  bring her into this, you slimy piece of shit," she growls, voice lower than Melina has ever heard it. 

Irving speaks up now, his voice slow and meandering. "Yes, I believe Uldred might be right. Perhaps this Amell and a templar are also helping Anders escape," her murmur. Melina feels a cold chill at the base of her spine at his words. A templar? He can't mean... Cullen, can he?

Jalyn spits at Irving's feet. "No, it was just me. I acted by myself, so leave Melina alone," she says and the lie feels bitter along Melina's skin.

She knows Jalyn is lying as surely as she knows Cullen is kind and the sky is blue during the day. She can feel it, the raw traces of it tasting like ashes. She reaches forward, grabbing Jalyn's sleeve. "Don't, please, don't do this," she begs her dearest friend.

Greagoir signals to his templars to seize Jalyn. "Perhaps some time in solitary will remind you that you're an Enchanter now. You have a duty to the apprentices to show them the right path to walk."

Jalyn spits in his face as the templars grab her arms. "Fuck you," she says and a gloved metal hand connects with her face.

"Templar Bran, that's enough," Greagoir barks. "Take her to solitary, but make sure she makes it there in one piece," he warns.

She struggles against their grip, glaring at Greagoir. Tears trickle down Melina's face. "But she's innocent," she says, staring at Jalyn. "Why?"

Greagoir nods at Irving who forces the crowd of mages to disperse as Jalyn is dragged down the hallway. "Amell, you should return to your studies. There is... nothing you can do here. I am... sorry," he says, before turning away. She's left alone, just her and Uldred. She looks at the balding elder mage, and a shiver runs down her spine. She hurries away, uncomfortable staying so close to someone who feels so cruel in her mind.

 

**~*~*~**

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There is no light. There are no windows. The walls are painted a crisp white but blood-stained scratch marks are everywhere, tiny reminders of the mages trapped here before her. There is no sound. No bed and no blankets. The only thing in the room is a small metal basin for mages to relieve themselves in. The room is tiny with barely enough space to walk around.

It's smothering. Sometimes, it feels like she can't breathe. Like the walls are closing in on her. Jalyn can feel panic and bile rise up in her throat as she clutches her stomach. She vomits in the corner, emptying the meager contents of her belly in a violent explosion across the stone floor. The smell is thick and fills her senses but after a while, she becomes numb to the horrible smell of feces, piss, and vomit.

Jalyn can't tell how much time has passed. Every hour is the same as the one before it. She tries pacing in a tight line, hoping to burn off energy so she can sleep. It isn't helping, instead it increases her restlessness. So she sits, in the corner, knees up and pressed against her chest. Her meals are irregular and infrequent, making it impossible to tell the time. Not knowing makes her frantic and disoriented and she rocks on her heels, gently, back and forth to try to keep calm.

She's sure she has been in here for a week, at least. Maybe longer. Have they forgotten her? How long are they going to keep her here? She's afraid and lonely and angry. She spends hours pounding on the door, screaming until her voice goes hoarse and her throat is raw. She wants  _out._  She wants to be with Melina and Jowan. She even misses Wynne's lectures, boring as they are. She just wants to see  _people_ again, whatever the cost. She's prayed to the Maker for a release but He's been silent and ignored her pleas.

Twice guards have come in when she screamed. They beat her until she stops. It's brutal and painful but she's glad for the physical contact, the reprieve from being alone. Afterwards, she'll lie there, body aching, and finally sleep.

The dreams are always terrible. She'll wander the Fade and the demons hound her. They make promises of teaching her blood magic so she can escape, telling her it's the only way. But every time she feels herself grow weak, she pictures Melina's face. Knowing how disappointed her friend would be, she holds on and resists. So long as Melina still needs her, she will not give in to temptation.

She hears the door to her cell creak open, a soft sound she almost misses. She scampers to her feet, hope making her crane her neck to look. When they bring her food it's slipped under the door so maybe this is her chance at freedom? Have they come to finally release her?

A templar enters the room. She gasps in fear when she sees his face; his smile is cruel and doesn't quite reach his eyes. No, his eyes are cold and empty as he looks at her. He closes the door behind him and begins walking toward her. He isn't wearing any armor, just a pair of breeches and a tan undershirt. A large bulge is formed under his pants, and he fondles it as he walks toward her. Jalyn's eyes are wide as fear makes sweat trickle down her spine.

He unbuckles his belt and Jalyn screams. "No one will come, no matter how loud you scream, knife-ear. It's time I taught you a lesson, little girl," he sneers, anger and desire making his voice low.

She tries to run but there's no escape. He grabs her by the hair, yanking hard, and she cries out in pain. His breath smells of ale as he forces his lips on hers. She bites his lip as she rakes her nails across his face, desperate to escape. He snarls, throwing her to the ground where she lands with a harsh thud. She tries to crawl away, hands and knees scrambling. Her nails scrape across the ground as he drags her back to him. He flips her over, smiling down at her; his crooked teeth are stained and disgusting and she tries not to look.

He pulls up her robes as she struggles, fumbling with his pants at the same time. Still, she struggles, lashing out and screaming until tears stream down her cheeks. She calls for Jowan, she calls for Wynne, she even tries to call out for the Knight-commander. She begs him to stop, please, Oh Maker, stop, but he covers her mouth with his hand and kisses her neck ever so softly. She feels the bile rise in the back of her throat again as he forces himself inside of her. Tears spring to her eyes as brutal pain overwhelms her, stars bursting across her vision. Shame makes her skin feel cold and she squeezes her eyes shut tight against the brutal invasion.

After he finally leaves, she lays there, broken inside, liquid spilling from her lower region. She feels like a piece of her has been torn from her. She looks up at the ceiling, feeling dirty and used, but there's no way to clean herself. She continues to cry, the tears cold against her cheeks.

Eventually, after a few hours seem to have come and gone, she sits up. She relieves herself in the chamberpot, trying to wipe as much of the semen off her with a torn corner of her robe, and returns to her corner. She sits there, huddled in on herself, and sings. She sings the song her mother used to sing to her, a Dalish lullaby from before she left her clan to be with her husband. 

_ Elgara vallas, da'len.  _

Her voice is broken, and she pronounces most of the words wrong, but it brings her a small bit of comfort as tears still run down her face. 

_Ara ma'desen melar._ 

She wishes desperately her mother is here, someone to hold her and comfort her. 

_ Ma garas mir renan. _

But Jalyn is alone. Just her and the demons, whispering from the Fade.

Not even sleep will heal this pain, because mages aren't allowed to just dream.  _Ara ma'athlan vhenas._ 


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been focusing more on Jalyn it feels, so I tried to give Melina some extra screen time and show a little more into her motivations on why she's so set on trusting the templars, even when she's essentially an empath and picks up on emotions the way she does, since Jalyn is away in solitary right now. Don't worry, we'll have more of our rebellious spitfire again next chapter. ;)

Melina sits alone in Jalyn's room, the quiet stillness making her fidget. Enchanter Wynne has told her Jalyn's to released today. She shifts, impatient, on Jalyn's bed before getting to her feet, a soft sigh escaping her lips.  She paces the length of the room, wringing her hands as she goes. Her stomach rolls, nausea hitting her in waves as she reaches out, trying to find Jalyn amidst the horde of negative emotions swirling around Kinloch Hold.

She clutches her stomach, eyes widening. Maker's Holy light, what is that? It's darker than anything she's ever felt, like acid on her tongue. It burns and claws until she can't breathe, collapsing to her knees as her breath comes in short pants. She screams when a hand touches her shoulder, covering her face with her arms. "No," she shouts, not even sure why she's shouting in the first place.

"Shhh, child, calm yourself. Drink this," a voice says, tender and kind. 

Melina blinks up at the aged and wrinkled face of Enchanter Wynne, her lips trembling as she takes the small glass vial. The liquid's cold against her throat, and tastes sweeter than anything she's tasted. Slowly, the darkness she felt recedes, and she can breath again. "Wh- What was that?" she asks, hands still shaking. 

Wynne frowns, lips pulling down in a tight line as she strokes Melina's back in small circles. "Something that should never have happened, child."

"Then why did it happen if it wasn't supposed to?" She feels confused, Kinloch Hold is safe. It's home. But whatever that was didn't feel safe, or comforting. "Can the Templars make it stop?"

Wynne clenches her jaw before making her face neutral. "There is nothing to be done. Just remember what I've always told you, my child. Be a good girl, keep your head down, and don't associate with the troublemakers. You're an empath, and we're so few to become true Spirit Healers. They can't afford to risk breaking us that way." She sounds as if she's trying to convince herself more than Melina, which only causes her confusion to increase.

Melina crinkles her brow. "Did someone hurt Jalyn?" she asks, voice barely above a whisper. 

Wynne doesn't answer her, just continues stroking her back. She probably didn't hear me, Melina guesses, sighing once more. She chews on her lower lip, struggling to find an answer to her question on her own. Who here would hurt Jalyn? She searches her memory and remembers the dark cruelty from Senior Enchanter Uldred. She shivers, huddling closer to Wynne's side, and the elder mage wraps an arm around her, tucking her in close to her side. When she was little, she would have sucked her thumb as she sat here. Now that she's older, she absent-mindedly grabs a long curl and chews on it, face pinched in a frown. It doesn't make sense to her, no matter how she tries to wrap her mind around it. If Uldred hurt Jalyn, why didn't the templars help her? That's why they're here, right, to protect them?

_ "The templars don't protect us, stupid, they're here to trap us!" _

Jalyn's words come back, echoing in Melina's mind as clear as if they had just been spoken. No, no it can't be true. If the templars aren't here to protect them, then what will Melina cling to when she's sad and scared? No, they have to be good. Her momma had promised. _  "Shhhh, it's okay, love. Go with the nice templars. They'll protect you. They'll be your knights in shining armour, don't cry now, my precious baby. You'll be safer there than here."  _ She repeats the words her mother had spoken to her that last day over and over, the promise becoming a chant that she wraps around herself like a warm blanket. Her momma wouldn't have lied to her. The templars have to be good. They have to be.

Don't they?

 

~*~*~

 

She sits across from Ser Cullen, hands folded neatly in her lap. Jalyn didn't come back today. They won't tell her where she is, and she's too afraid to reach out and search for her with her mind again. But she knows something bad happened. She bites her lip, hesitating. But she needs to know. 

"Ser Cullen?" She whispers the question and he doesn't hear her. She tightens her shoulders, anxiety rushing through her, making her nauseous. But she pushes forward, determined. "Ser Cullen?" she asks again, voice louder this time.

He looks up at her, one eyebrow raised. "Uh, yes, Miss Mellie?"

"I- uh, that is I-" She stutters, her courage faltering under the light of his steady gaze. She hates this. Her chest hurts, heart racing for no reason. Her palms are sweaty as she shifts in her chair. She squeezes her eyes shut tight, fists clenched under the table. "Do you know what happened to Enchanter Surana?" she says, voice too loud, sweat trickling down the back of her neck. Her mouth feels abnormally dry, as if she hasn't drank any water in hours, and dizziness threatens to overwhelm her. Her breath comes in short pants, but she squeezes her jaw shut tight, muscles locking up as she opens her eyes to look at Cullen.

Cullen blinks at her for a moment before getting to his feet. She can hear the light tinkling sound of water being poured before he sets it down in front of her. She stares at the cup, unable to move to grab it or take a drink, but grateful for the gesture nonetheless. He doesn't answer her right away, frowning slightly as if he's considering his words carefully. "I only know she's been taken to see a Healer," he admits, voice soft. "Mo-more than that I ca-can't say." He pauses, brows furrowed, before continuing. "I'm sor-sorry, Miss Mellie."

She nods her head, curls tumbling forward to cover her face. "I'm scared," she whispers. "I don't understand what's happening."

Cullen leans forward, still frowning. "I-I'll protect you, Miss Mellie. I pro-promise." His voice is full of determination, despite his stutter. 

She frowns, muscles loosening up a little. She places her hands on the table, flexing her fingers to relax them. "From who?" she asks, confusion still thick in her mind. She doesn't understand what she needs protecting from. She believed the only danger lay in the demons from the Fade. Was there more she couldn't see?

He hesitates before grabbing her hands. "I- Just know you'll always be safe around me, okay Mi-Mellie? I won't let anyone harm you."

She blushes, heat rushing to her cheeks as she holds his hands in the candlelight. She nods, slowly, his hands so warm in hers. "Okay, Ser Cullen."

A crashing sound breaks the near silence, causing her to cry out and cover her face as Cullen spins around, leaping to his feet. The crash brings back a flood of memories of her father, anger and red faced as he throws whatever is in reach at her head.  _Don't hurt me, please, daddy, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to, don't be mad, don't be mad! I won't tell momma, please!_

"You traitor!" Jowan says, voice raised and high-pitched. "How could you? After everything _she's_ been through!"

Melina uncovers her face, looking up at Jowan with a pounding heart. It's okay. She's safe here. It isn't like back home. She's safe. She glares at the blood mage. "I haven't done anything! You- you-" But she can't say the words "blood mage", not with Cullen so near. She doesn't care what they'll do to Jowan, but the thought of Jalyn being sad... she just can't bear it. "Go away! You're not wanted here, just go away!" she shouts, hands over her ears, heart beating so fast it feels as if it might leap out of her chest. "Please," she adds, voice barely a whisper.

Cullen glowers at Jowan, a dark shadow covering his face. "I should report you, mage," he growls, and Melina has never heard his voice so low, so angry.

Jowan shifts, and Melina can feel his fear. "For what, templar? I- I've done nothing wrong," he insists, not meeting Cullen's eyes. He pulls his sleeves down low, and his guilt is palpable to Melina.

"Liar," she accuses.

Jowan's eyes widen. He stares at her a moment, eyes searching her face. "You, you don't know what you're talking about, Amell," he says, but it doesn't take an empath to hear the uncertainty in his voice. 

Cullen raises a brow as he looks between the two. "Is- is som-something going on?" he questions, a frown once more pulling his lips down.

Melina looks away, unable to meet his eyes. "I- I... no, ser Cullen," she replies, heart breaking with her own lie.

She can feel Jowan's relief and it makes her stomach churn. "I should go," he says. "Remember Amell, Jalyn's hurting real bad now. Who do you think were the ones who hurt her?" He turns, shuffling away.

"What does he mean by that?" she asks, not meaning to speak aloud.

This time it's Cullen who looks away, staring at a spot on the floor. "Probably just nonsense, Me-Mellie. Enchanter Surana will be fine," he replies, and his lie taste like ashes in her mouth.

 

~*~*~

 

Melina stands outside the study room her and Cullen alway use. He's there, inside, waiting patiently. She enters the room, slippered feet brushing against the floor as she shuffles awkwardly. "Hello, Cullen," she says, smiling at him.

He smiles back, and she can feel how nervous he is. "Mellie," he says, and his voice warms her from the inside out. "I- I wanted to show you something," he says, cheeks burning red.

She joins him at the table, pulling her chair close so she can see. "I'd like to see anything you have to show me, Cullen," she replies, and mentally curses herself for her bold words.

He stares at her a moment before clearing his throat. "I, uh, prob-probably shouldn't be sharing this with you," he admits. "Are you sure it's alright?" She nods her head, a soft smile settling itself on her lips as he continues. "I know it doesn't look like much..." he says, holding out a small silver coin embossed with the face of Andraste on it. 

She takes it gently, turning it over in her hand. She looks up into his eyes when he starts to speak again. "Templars aren't supposed to have worldly possessions. Our... faith should to see us through. But m-my brother gave it to me, before I came here."

A brother? He's telling her about his family? Her heart swells at his words, at how much he must trust her to tell her these things. "I promise not to tell," she whispers, leaning forward and grabbing his hand.

"I know it's foolish of me, but I'm glad I've met you, Mellie," he says. Their faces are so close, she can see the dark brown specks in his golden eyes. 

She wets her lips, heart fluttering like mad. "So am I," she whispers. His eyes seem to darken as he leans forward, breath warm against her lips.

"Maker preserve me," he breathes, capturing her mouth with his. It's a soft kiss, a sweet caress, as he holds her hand in the soft candlelight. His lips are soft, warm, and he smells of sandalwood as s he clutches his tunic with her other hand, closing her eyes as she tries to return the kiss, hoping she doesn't seem awkward or clumsy with her movements. He pulls back, looking down at her, brow furrowed and a blush reddening his cheeks. "We shouldn't do this," he says.

She nods her head, still a little dizzy from the kiss. "I know," she replies. "I'm sorry."

He caresses her cheek with one hand, settling his forehead against hers. "It's too dangerous for you," he continues. "I'd lose my post but you-" he shudders, and she can feel a brief wisp of fear from him.

She nudges his nose with her own. "Wynne says they can't afford to break me," she says, still not really sure what those words mean, but praying they bring him some measure of comfort. "Because I'm an empath."

He sighs, his breath hot against her skin. "Still... I'm supposed to protect you. Like this I can barely thi-think, let alone protect you, Mellie. A Templar's duty is never to get too close to the mages we watch over."

She bites her lip, caught between uncertainty and pleasure. She knows he's right, that they shouldn't do this. It's a sin, she knows it, but still.... The way she feels when he looks at her, as if she were the most beautiful thing he's ever seen- It makes her heart beat like nothing else ever has. "I'm sorry," she says, not knowing what else to say, but feeling as if she should apologize for tempting him from his duty.

His hand still cups her cheek as he sighs again, finally pulling back. "Please, I'm the on-one who's sorry, Mellie. Please, forgive me," he says, before getting up from the table. He doesn't say anything else as he walks away, their game left forgotten as she sits there alone. Her fingertips touch her lips, before she places a hand over her chest.  
  
"Maker, forgive us both," she whispers to the dark.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Someone asked me recently why Jalyn was raped in the story. Aside from showing just how corrupt some (not all) templars can be, Jalyn is one of my therapy characters. Writing her, and her experience, reflects a lot on my own mind set after I was raped at 18. But Jalyn is stronger than I was, and doesn't go down a path as self destructive as I did. She's what I wish I had been, while still mirroring some of my darker thoughts. This chapter has some mild? triggering content, since it deals with Jalyn dealing with the aftereffects of her rape while in solitary. I was also asked why Melina was abused as a child- because it fit the story, tbh, but her experiences are based on my own as a child.
> 
> Enchanter Leorah is the Senior Enchanter you meet in DA:O. The elf with the spider problem? She's newly made senior enchanter then, so I figure during this time she's a plain enchanter.

Jalyn's body aches. Everything is sore, muscles raw and aching. She shivers as shame racks her body, an icy cold feeling in her spine that only serves as a brutal reminder of what she went through in solitary confinement.

"Enchanter Surana?" a voice says, loud and booming. It seems to crackle in the air, too loud, invading her eardrums with its callous sound.

She flinches, crawling back on the small cot they had placed her on. She doesn't answer. She just closes her eyes, squeezing them shut so tight she can see little stars in the darkness. She can hear them muttering, too soft for her to hear all the words clearly. She catches a few; "quiet", "hasn't spoken since", "tranquil".

Tranquil? No more feeling? To not feel this shame and fear.... she bites her lip, eyes still closed, until she draws blood. It's warm and metallic on her tongue and the pain brings her comfort. She's not sure how long she lies there, body still aching, before the tears come. They are warm against her hollow cheeks. She heaves her sobs, shoving her face into the rough cotton pillow. It smells musty and old, but it quiets the sounds as her entire body quakes. Her fists pound against the cot before she grips them in her hair.  A strangled scream escapes her lips as she continues to cry, tears and snot mingling on her cheeks and chin, wetting the pillow.

She can hear someone shouting the word "no" over and over before she realizes it's her. But she doesn't care if anyone hears. Let them come. Let them take her, break her down and burn her mind away with lyrium. She doesn't want to feel this pain anymore;  _Maker please just make it stop,_  she prays silently in her head. She doesn't care about anything else, the pain in her chest is overwhelming. It's a throbbing ache, a pulsing pain that rips through her until her breath comes in short, ragged gasps.

Slowly, the sobs recede and she curls into a tight ball, still shaking. She hears the soft pitter-patter of slippered feet entering the room, the gentle swishing of robes that let her know it's probably a mage and not another templar.

"Jalyn?" a voice says, and it's a mixture of firm and gentle. She turns her head, peeking out beneath her long, stringy hair. Enchanter Leorah is there, sitting in a chair with a book in her lap. Leorah had been her mentor. Sometimes, she had attended lectures with Melina to listen to Wynne, but Leorah was the one who taught her most of her magic. 

She sniffs. "Whatsit?" she mutters, voice hoarse from screaming and crying.

Leorah gives her a soft smile. "I'm glad to hear you finally speak. I couldn't very well not come. How are you, my dear?" she asks, tone full of caution.

Her lips waver as images cloud her mind. "You wouldn't understand," she whispers.

Leorah's expression grows dark for a moment. "I'd understand more than you think," she replies sharply. She closes her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose, before looking at Jalyn again. "I doubt it helps ease your mind now, but the Knight-Commander has sent your assailant to Aeonar."

Jalyn's eyes grow wide at these revelations. "Aeonar? But he's no maleficar..."

"He's worse," Leorah replies, the words clipped and harsh. She takes another slow breath before continuing. "Luckily, it's not solely mages that are sent to Aeonar. Sometimes, the worst of the templars are sent there, as well, or those exposed to blood magic. Thankfully, our Knight-commander agrees that this crime deserves harsh punishment."

The Knight-Commander... She furrows her brow at Leorah's words. No, it has to be a lie... doesn't it? They're all the same, the templars. That one might not be so cruel, so evil... it's too much for her and she shakes her head back and forth, cheek bumping into her pillow. "I don't believe it," she mumbles, biting her lip again.

Leorah sighs, placing her hand on top of Jalyn's.  "Hush, for now, then. You should rest. If the templars do not think you will recover... Well, I needn't warn you what the result might be, do I?"

Jalyn pauses, staring at the older mage with unblinking eyes for a moment before she, too, sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, but can you stay? I- don't want to sleep if I'm alone," she says, voice barely above a whisper.

Leorah nods, leaning back in her chair. "Go on, rest a bit then."

 

~*~*~

 

Jowan's lips are warm on hers as he kisses her, hot and fierce and desperate. "I've missed you," he whispers against her lips before kissing her again, the shadows in the forgotten corner of the corridor hiding their reunion.

His hands cup her breasts and memories assault her mind. She freezes before shoving him away, pounding her fists against his chest. "Don't, please stop!" she demands, voice louder than she means it. She holds back the tears as panic claws at her mind.

His brows furrow in confusion but he steps back. "Jalyn? What's wrong, why are...." he stops, realization flashing against his face. "Bastards," he growls, angrier than she's ever heard him.

Her body is shivering, tight controlled jerks as she struggles to remove the feel of the templar's hands from her memory. "I- I can't..." she says, voice breaking.

Jowan nods slowly, not reaching for it but not moving away, either. "You don't have to, love."

She looks down at the ground, hating how weak she feels, how hesitant. It isn't her, and it makes her angry. "I don't know how long it'll take," she says, clenching her fists at her side.  _Please don't hate me._

"However long it needs to is fine. I'll wait forever, if you need me to," he replies, and the honesty in his tone shocks her to her core. 

A brief sob escapes her lips. She covers her mouth with her hands, shaking her head back and forth in quick snaps. She doesn't want to break, doesn't want Jowan to see her like this. She looks at him, tears running down her cheeks, surprised to see only concern reflected in his eyes. "I- Can you just hold me?" she asks, hating herself even more.

He nods, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. He's warm and solid and familiar, something real she never thought she could have.  She lets herself go, crying into his chest as she clutches his worn robes in her bony hands. She isn't healed, this dark memory a permanent blot on her mind, but in his arms she finds a small measure of something akin to comfort.

 

~*~*~

 

She sits with her back pressed against the wall. Jowan sits beside her, nothing touching except their shoulders and entwined hands. She closes her eyes, listening to the sound of him breathing. She exhales when he does, letting the breath pass between her lips, inhaling again in time with him. She lets her mind stay quiet, only focusing on the steady intake and release of air. 

"Why haven't you gone to see her?" Jowan asks, breaking the silence.

She doesn't have to ask who he means. There's really only one other friend she has, one person who she would want to see. Melina's plump face forms in her mind, soft and full of innocence. Her wide golden eyes full of tears as Jalyn tells her the truth of what her  _precious_ templars are really like.... No, she can't go see Melina. She can't even bear the thought of shattering that naïve faith her shem friend has. Enough has been shattered, already.

"I don't want to see her," is her harsh reply, cold and clipped.

Jowan shifts, leaning his head against her shoulder. He doesn't reply, and she wonders what he's thinking. "It's okay... if you miss her," he finally says.

She inhales sharply, his words hitting her like a punch to the stomach. She squeezes his hand until she knows it must hurt him, but it keeps her from shaking.

"I know how much she means to you, love," he continues, voice hesitant.

"No," she says, not even sure what she's denying.

He rolls his eyes over to look at her, the soft candlelight highlight the blue-gray tones. "Jalyn..." He whispers her name, so soft, so kind, and she breaks a little further.

She moves, grabbing him and entangling her fingers in his hair as she silences his kindness with a kiss. He lightly caresses her cheek in turn, that inner gentleness unable to be switched off. She tries, though, using more teeth than normal. But he just continues to return the kiss the same way he always has, and tears fall down her face again. She leans against his chest as he strokes her hair, whispering something she can't hear over the roaring in her brain. Little whispers echo in the back of her mind, demons telling her promises and lies. She closes her eyes tight, afraid to give in but afraid to deny them, as well. She can't, she  _won't,_ become what the templars say she will. She will never become an abomination. Jalyn pulls away from Jowan's embrace, meeting his eyes again. She'll beat this, and escape without the demon's lying vows. Her and Jowan, somehow, one day they'll be free. Even if she has to drown the templars in a bloody war to do it.

 

~*~*~

 

Jalyn stares at Cullen as he grasps the note she'd scribbled to him, asking to meet. She sneers at him, lip curling with disgust. Jowan has told her what he'd seen and Jalyn's blood boils in rage at the thought. "What game are you playin' at?" she asks, voice barely above a growl.

He furrows his brow, and the innocence in his face reminds her of Melina. But it must be a lie, a ploy meant to deceive her. "I- I don't know wh-what you mean, Enchanter Sur-Surana," he stutters. 

She snorts, a derisive sound that crackles through the air. "I want you to stay away from her," she replies. "She is not a toy for your filthy templar mind games."

His cheeks turn bright red at her words, lips parting in plain shock. "I-I don't know what you mea-mean," he replies. 

"Don't lie to me!"Jalyn shouts, causing him to startle. "Melina deserves better than that."

Cullen bows his head, curls falling from their carefully styled place. "I know," he whispers. "But I- I promise, I don't think of her as a-a-a toy."

Her hand flies out on its own accord, slapping him across his cheek. She feels a moment of paralyzing fear when she's realized what she's done. She... she just struck a templar. Shit.  _Shit._ But she doesn't apologize, doesn't beg him not to tell, not to throw her back in solitary. Jalyn just watches him with narrowed eyes as he places a hand against his own cheek, eyes wide.

"They may turn me tranquil for it, or throw me in Aeonar, but by the Maker if you hurt her, I will see you dead," she whispers, ignoring the fear running through her.

Cullen nods slowly. "I-It was never my attention to harm her, Enchanter Surana. I should go before someone comes to see wh-what happened," he replies, stepping in a wide berth around her.

After he leaves, she sinks to her knees, hands shaking. She hadn't realized until that moment just how much her friend means to her. She'd drown the world if she could keep Melina safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those that may question my idea to send that templar to Aeonar even though he isn't a mage- That is where Lily is sent and she's just a Chantry initiate. Makes sense that Templars might be sent there, too, if their crime is appropriate. I know, she was sent there because she was exposed to blood magic. But since we have not heard of a templar prison, and it would make sense that they need something with guards who know how to handle Templars. A regular cell might not be enough. Anyway, this is obviously AU and strong HC.


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It all starts to fall apart, unraveling at the edges and crumbling around them.

The room is dark, lit only by flickering candlelight. Cold air seeps in through the cracks in the wall. Jalyn wraps her tattered blanket close around her wiry frame. She sits cross-legged on her bed, chewing her lip in silence as she thinks. A sigh forces itself from her lips. She looks down, a crumpled note with barely legible scrawling and bloodstained fingerprints sits there, casting tiny shadows on her bed. Carefully, she lies it flat, smoothing out the paper to read the words again for the thousandth time. She knows them well by now, but still it's hard for her to believe. 

_Uldred plans to betray your mage. The Chantry sympathizers, too._

_All crushed. No escape. I heard him say it but no one believes the word of an apprentice._

She wants to scream, but it's useless. She's not even sure what makes her more angry- the fact that a Senior Enchanter, one of their own, is planning to betray them or the thought of what they will do to Melina if they think she's guilty. Jalyn looks down at her wrists, pale and gray in the shadows. She has to protect them. She takes a knife, one of the ones they sometimes give them at supper when there's more than bland mash to eat, and takes a deep breath. Slowly, she runs the blade across her wrist, hissing as the pain spreads. It's almost a relief, really, the way the pain seems to numb what she's feeling inside. The blood drips down, staining her sheets. She can feel the power, hovering, waiting, but she doesn't call it. Just lets the pain run its course through her body until the bleeding begins to slow.

Now she has a mark, too. Maybe, she can make them think it's her, instead. She wonders, alone in the dark, if she can save them both this way.  She takes the note, holding it carefully above the flame of her candle. She watches it burn, the ashes floating down to land in the metal tray beneath it. She burns it away until it's nothing but ashes, scattered on her sheets. 

 

~*~*~

 

Melina watches Jalyn across the library. It's noisy and crowded. Young apprentices line up in front of her friend as she reads them a story. Melina smiles, recognizing the bored expression on Jalyn's face. Niall bumps his shoulder with hers. "You haven't talked since she came back, have you?" he asks, and she can feel his concern, like a warm and steady blanket.

She shakes her head, curls bouncing. "No. She won't come to me," she replies with a tiny sigh. "She's never avoided me like this before. Not even when she's angry with me."

Niall bites his lip and she senses his hesitancy. "Niall?" she asks, brow furrowing. "What is it?"

He grabs her arm, pulling her closer to the bookshelf and away from any overhearing ears. "There's these rumours, that your friend has turned to... blood magic, since her release," he whispers, eyes darting around nervously.

"No, she can't be. I'd know," Melina insists, panic making her heart race despite her words. "Jalyn knows how dangerous blood magic is."

Niall looks down at her, pity filling his eyes and crashing over her. "Maybe that's why she's avoiding you? So you don't, you know, "sense" it in her," he replies.

Melina shakes her head back and forth, eyes wide. "No, no, you're wrong," she says, panic making her voice higher. She slams down her shields, ignoring everything around her. No, Niall is wrong. He has to be wrong. Jalyn would never...

She looks across the library again, watching Jalyn. As if her friend can sense her watching, she glances up. Their eyes meet, and Melina beams, a bright and happy smile spreading across her face. Jalyn scowls, her expression as dark as Melina's is light.

She can feel her own smile wilting around the edges as fear snakes its way through her heart. She takes a step forward, wanting desperately to go to Jalyn, to hold her and ask her if these rumors are true. Please, Maker, let them not be true, she prays over and over in her head. Another step and suddenly an armoured chest stands in her way. She looks up at the Knight-Commander, eyes wide. "S-Ser?" she asks.

"I need you to come with me, Amell," he says, voice low but not harsh.

She nods, saying goodbye to Niall before following the Knight-Commander out. She watches his back as they walk, tiny tendrils of fear making her palms sweaty. She reaches into her pocket and rubs her thumb across the coin Cullen had accidentally left with her. It calms her, a little, as she follows dutifully behind Greagoir . 

When they reach his office, he motions for her to sit.  His eyes are lined and weary, lips turned down in a frown. "I know you're close with Surana," he begins, and her heart quickens at his words.  "There are dangerous rumours about her, child, have you heard?"

She shakes her head, quick snaps back and forth. "They're not true! Jalyn wouldn't!" she says, voice frantic. "Please, Ser, you can't believe it, please!" She repeats the please over and over until he stops her, brows furrowed with clear concern.

He lets out a soft sigh. "It may not come down to whether  _I_ believe it or not," he says, and this admission shocks her to her core.

"No!" she shouts. She falls to her knees, hands outstretched. "You can't let anything bad happen to her, you can't!" she begs, tears  falling down her cheeks. "Please, please, I know she's innocent," she continues, words falling from her lips in a jumbled mess. "Please, don't hurt her."

"Calm yourself, Amell. You can't afford to let your emotions be so out of control. I know she is innocent of the crimes she's being accused of." Greagoir sighs, running a hand over his face. "But I can't protect you all," he admits.

Melina freezes at these words. He can't... protect them? "But you're the Knight-Commander," she whispers, trembling. "You have to protect us." With his one sentence, she feels as if her world is crumbling, shattering at the edges. "You have to. Mother promised."

He looks at her, hardening his eyes. "It's not that simple, child. I will do my best, but your friend is determined to consort with blood mages and unless you can stop her, there will be nothing left for me to do," he replies, voice flat.

She stares at him, lips trembling, as she tries to regain control of her emotions. Her shoulders slump, sadness sinking into her heart. "I... I... ." but she has no words left, nothing to say that will save her dearest friend.

"Go on, you have lessons with Wynne soon," he says. "And Amell?" She looks up at Greagoir again, hope fluttering in. "Be careful you don't get caught in her web." And the hope flutters back out, leaving as if it had never come at all.

 

~*~*~

 

Cullen's hand is warm as she presses the coin to his palm. "Here, you forget this," she whispers. She tries to smile but tears threaten to overwhelm her.

He nods, not meeting her eyes. "I've requested a change of duties. I won't be helping you with your less-lessons anymore," is  his short reply, almost free of his usual stutter.

Her heart drops and finally the tears fall. "Why?" she asks, voice wavering. She's losing Jalyn and now Cullen and it feels as if her whole world is falling apart.

"Because I'm a templar, Mellie, and want- wanting you this way is wrong," he says, cheeks reddening.

She grabs his hand, desperation tearing through her. "Please," she whispers. She's not even sure what she's begging for. She knows he's right. But it's all happening so fast. She can't keep losing people. Her heart thunders in her chest as fear cascades through her. She's losing everyone and the thought makes her panic. "You said you'd protect me," she says, voice small.

He flinches, pulling away. "I can't protect you like this," is all he says.

He turns to walk away, only pausing for a moment when he reaches the doorway. But she doesn't say a word, doesn't beg him to stay, or cling to him like she wants to. He leaves, vanishing like all the good feelings she had felt just days ago. She drops to the floor, legs crumpling beneath her.

"Andraste, guide me. Show me the light of the Maker's path so that I may walk without sin. O Bride of our Maker, Redeemer and Saviour, forgive my sins, just as You forgave the wicked Tevinters who took You from us. Count not my transgressions, but, rather, my tears of repentance." The words fall from her lips as quickly as the tears fall from her eyes. "Remember not my iniquities, but, more especially, my sorrow for the offenses I have committed against You and our Maker. I long to be true to Your Song, and pray that the Maker will love me. I promise to give You and our Maker praise and glory in love and in service all the days of my life. From my lips, the Chant will be sung, and I beg of You for Your forgiveness."

And in the end, that's all she has left. A prayer whispered alone in the darkness.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If I titled chapters, this one would be titles "Promises". We're getting closer to the ends, my friends, and I want to thank you all for sticking with me on this journey, especially Flaminea who has reviewed every chapter & mosomacilany who has reviewed most of them so far! All the reviews I get are incredibly helpful and appreciated, even if you've only reviewed one or two chapters. It really warms my heart to know others are taking this journey along with me, and don't completely hate it. Thank you, from the very bottom of my woebegone heart.

His hands are soft as they trail down her arms. Jalyn's eyelids flutter as Jowan kisses her neck. She moans, gripping his shoulders tight in her hands. She whispers his name and he massages her breast. She closes her eyes and she can see the templar, hovering over, and she panics. Her heart racing madly, she shoves Jowan away. Her eyes are wild as she stares at him, fear making her sweat.

"I- I can't," she whispers, feeling broken.

He frowns, taking a small step back. "You don't have to, love," he whispers. 

She looks at him, hands trembling. She wants to apologize, but doesn't know how. "I can try again, if you want."

He shakes his head, his gray eyes soft. "Jalyn, I don't need you to have sex with me. You don't have to force anything, not with me," he replies. "I don't even need you to stay with me if it hurts you."

She falls to her knees, tears pouring down her hollow cheeks again. "I hate this. I'm used, and dirty, and I hate this!" she says, voice wavering as she stares at the ground. He kneels down too, his shadow covering her. He gently places a hand on her shoulder. She flinches, but doesn't back away. "I'm useless," she mutters.

"No, love, you're not. You're stronger than I am. I don't think I would have survived, if our places were reversed." His voice is calm, almost hesitant. She lets out a sob, looking into his eyes. "I'll never let them hurt you again," he adds.

She shakes her head. "Don't fight them! Please," she whispers. He just nods his head and she clenches her jaw, unwilling to cry further. "Promise me."

He hesitates, looking away for a moment before letting out a sigh. "I promise."

"No matter what happens, you have to keep that promise, Jowan." She knows her words probably sound ominous to him by the expression that clouds his face.  

He bites his lip, tugging the soft flesh between his teeth. "Jalyn..."

She grabs his robes, clutching them until her knuckles are white. "Promise me!"

She holds her breath until he nods. "Okay, love, I promise," he finally agrees.

 

~*~*~

 

Melina feels as if the world is tilting away from her. Her palms are covered in sweat as Anders' words ring back in her mind.  _ You don't know? One of your precious templars used her. That's what they do to you in solitary. _

No, he has to be lying, right? But she knows he isn't. His barriers were down as Wynne had checked him for corruption. At first, she had been glad to see him back, safely returned to the tower. Wynne was teaching her what to look for in a demon possessed mage, but Anders IS free of that sort of corruption. But the darkness she had seen, the hurt and anger and pain...

Her head swims as she grips the table, bile rising in her throat. What she had felt from Anders is the same darkness she had felt inside Jalyn that day. Wynne lays a hand on her back, Anders long gone from the room.

"Melina, dear," she begins but Melina shakes her head.

"Why? Why would they do that?" she asks, voice trembling. 

She can hear Wynne's robes brushing against the ground as the old woman moves to stand beside her. "Child, look at me." Melina turns her head, her eyes filled with unshed tears. "Some people are born with a... sickness that can't be cured. That templar was one of them."

Melina furrows her brow. "A sickness?" It doesn't make sense, and she can feel Wynne hiding something from her. "Tell me the truth," she demands, trying to make her voice firm, but it comes out as a plea.

Wynne sighs, a frown curving her lips down. "I can't explain it to you, child. Rest easy knowing Greagoir had him punished. That's all we can do."

Melina thinks back to all the pain she feels rolling off Jalyn in scalding hot waves. "Is it enough? Will it make Jalyn feel better?"

"No, child, I don't think it will."

"I hate him," Melina whispers, hands curling into fists.

Wynne's eyes grow wide, and Melina can feel her heartbeat quicken. "Don't say such a thing aloud, child. Hatred is a dangerous emotion. You must not allow yourself to feel it."

She struggles to quiet the small kernel of anger inside of her at her friend's pain, but she can't. And trying only makes it grow bigger so she stops, letting it sit there, a tiny flame inside of her. "Yes, Enchanter Wynne," she says, dropping a curtsy before scurrying out of the room.

 

~*~*~

 

"Jalyn, wait! Please," Melina says, voice louder than normal. Jalyn pauses, turning around in the crowded corridor. Melina's face breaks out into a wide smile and she barrels toward her, almost knocking over her smaller friend with a tight hug. "Maker, I've missed you so," Melina whispers, clinging to her as if she's the only lifeline she has left.

And, in a way, she is. 

Jalyn stiffens before gingerly wrapping her arms around her. "Yeah, shem? I couldn't tell at all," she replies, a hint of amusement in her tone.

Melina pulls back, a bright smile on her face. "I love you," she says, and she means it from the bottom of her heart. "You're my best friend. Please, let's never not talk again."

Her elven friend frowns but nods, rubbing the back of her neck. The motion reminds her of Cullen, but she pushes the thought from her mind. He's doing what he must, and she needs to accept that, even though the loss tears at her heart.

"Shem, can you promise me something?" Jalyn asks, not meeting her eyes.

Melina smiles wider, heart skipping a beat. "Anything!" she exclaims, her happiness at her friend not pulling away spreading and growing inside her. 

Jalyn looks up, her dark green eyes full of a strange mixture of emotions that even Melina can't quite place. "Be good, okay? Keep being exactly how you are now, obeying the templars and not fighting back? You'll be safe, if you're good, okay?"

Melina's smile falters around the edges. She's heard that before. First from her mother, the first time bruises had bloomed across Melina's face and arms from her father's anger. And again from Wynne, only a short time ago. Her pulse begins to race at the tone her friend has.

"Why? Jalyn..."

Jalyn shakes her head, pressing a finger to Melina's lips. "Just promise me, okay?"

Melina can feel her heart beginning to break. There's something so final, and so sad, in Jalyn's words but she just nods her head. "I promise, Jalyn."


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I've had this chapter written from the start, so with just a few minor changes, that's why it was so easy to post the final chapter so soon after the last one. Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Now it's over. You'll see more of Jalyn, Melina, Cullen, and Jowan in my Blight story "What Has Been Wrought", which also includes Maroth Tabris, Jalyn's cousin, from "A Smuggler's Chant".

 

Fear shatters every illusion of saftey Jalyn might have clung too. Their hands squeeze her arms tightly, the metal armour digging and cutting into her bare flesh. Jalyn wears nothing but a long shift as they drag her through the corridors, body bruised and tired. Her heart is thumping wildly in her chest as a voice screams at her to fight, to struggle. To make them stop. But this had been the plan all along, to divert their attention away from the ones she loves.

But they aren't supposed to be doing _this_. She knew there would  be punishment, more time in solitary or imprisonment in Aenor. But not this. No, she never thought they'd make a Harrowed mage tranquil. But part of her is grateful, grateful that the pain and fear and anger will all be gone even she fears what will happen next.

No one is safe. Not with templars and blood mages around. She can feel tears hiding behind her eyes and lets them fall. She knows this is the last thing that she will ever feel. The last emotion she'll ever hold. So she embraces it. She screams until her voice is ragged as the wretched templars stand and watch. She ignores the mixed looks she receives- some look at her with pity and some with distrust and fear.

It doesn't matter. She hates them all. The ominous sound of their clanking silver armour, the way they leer from the shadows... She hates it all. She wails her pain and sorrow, not caring that her throat is burning from the screams. Not caring that mages have left their rooms to watch. They whisper behind their hands, probably grateful it's not them who have earned this fate. She sees Melina, her face filled with fear and worry. Jowan's there, too, a look of horror in his gaze. She silently prays they'll be safe.

She screams louder as she feels the templars cast a smite. Pain shoots like lightning through her skin and a small laugh bubbles up in her throat. She tampers it down, not wanting to call a demon near. Even now, she fights against their temptation. The templars may take her soul, but the demons will never have her mind. She stops screaming, and the sudden silence seems to echo. Her heart still thunders in her chest. A small smile creeps along the edges of her lips and she allows it. Her hands grip the rough fabric that covers her breasts. They tremble and she clutches tighter, almost tearing the fabric in her fists.

She thinks of Jowan. The way he feels as he kisses her. His gentle warmth. She wonders, now, if it was worth it. She whispers his name to low for anyone to hear what she says and the templars cast another smite. She doesn't even scream as she convulses on the floor, twitching in pain.

They grab her by the arms again, swiftly carrying her down the corridor to the same room she had taken her Harrowing in. They toss her on the ground and her palms smack loudly against the stone floor. Another templar smiles cruelly at her from across the room and she shivers.

Maybe it won't be so bad... when she's tranquil...

She shakes her head, pushing away her more morbid thoughts. She looks up and meet the Knight-Commander's eyes. His eyes are filled with an emotion she doesn't recognize from him. Sorrow? No, it can't be.

"Is there nothing you wish to say in your defense, girl?" he asks, and she frowns at the sound in his voice.

She slowly shakes her head, face pinching in anger. "Templar pig," she snarls, spitting at his feet. She embraces the anger one final time, enjoying the way it burns in her heart.

A fist makes contact with the back of her head but Greagoir stops them from hurting her further. She wishes he hadn't. The pain would be welcome compared to what comes next. The hold her on the cold ground and fear makes her whole body tremble. Her stomach rolls as they bring the lyrium near. It reeks of metal and magic, cloying and strangely sweet. She regrets so much all of a sudden. Regrets the loss that is to come and so much more.

No, it has to be worth it. She struggles not to vomit at the smell of lyrium as her stomach clenches in pain. It's for Melina and Jowan. She has to shoulder the blame, has to protect them. It's the only way... She can knows it. Uldred will leave them alone now, he has no choice. She made a bargain with a man who's worse than any demon, that she would admit to blood magic so that Irving's suspicions would not fall to him. She's the sacrificial lamb led to slaughter in their place.

A voice whispers a promise in her ear but a burning pain in her head drives it away. She arches her back and thrashes against their hold. A wordless scream rips itself from her lips as pain steals her vision, the brand burning against her flesh. No, it hurts! It hurtsithurtsithurts!

And then there is nothing. No pain. No loss. A living doll, ready for orders.

 

~*~*~

 

Melina races down the corridor, bumping into mages as her feet pound against the stone floor. Her heart is racing wild beneath her breasts. It can't be true. It can't. She reaches Owain's stockroom, freezing as she does. Jalyn is there, dark red hair pulled into a low ponytail. Her expression is blank, still, without the fire and anger she had once held inside. A sun shaped brand blazes on her forehead, bright red and raw. She lunges forward, gripping Jalyn in a tight hug, tears pouring down her face. "Jalyn, oh Jalyn, why?" she whispers, not expecting an answer, not now.

Jalyn stands there, still as a rod, unable to return the hug. When Melina pulls away, Jalyn simply turns back to her duties cataloging the supplies for Owain. "I do not hurt, but your tears are... uncomfortable. Do you need something, Miss?" Jalyn asks, voice bland.

Melina slowly shakes her head. "I- I came to talk," she says.

"I have work to do, Miss. I cannot be bothered now. If you need assistance, please speak to Owain."

Her heart shatters as she slides to the floor, back pressed against the wall. "I won't bother you, then. I'll just sit here awhile, if that's okay?"

Jalyn ignores her, instead carefully concentrating on her task. Melina runs over her conversation with Wynne the night before.  _ There was nothing they could do, child. It was the only way. Aeonar would have been worse, for her. _

Melina takes these words her mentor had spoken and holds them close, the only comfort she has left. It isn't the templar's fault. The Knight-Commander tried. It's Jowan. She knows it, deep in her heart, that Jalyn has done this to protect that blood mage, that she has  _chosen_  to sacrifice herself. It isn't fair. She wipes away her tears. She wishes she never had this magic, that she had never been born at all, as she sits there watching Jalyn.  _Promise me, Shem..._

As the tears roll silently down her cheeks, she vows to keep that promise, to do good and obey the templars just as she had promised, no matter what.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm very sorry for the sadness that this ended in, but I want to deeply thank you for reading and sticking with it. This story was only written out originally for Caro and Savannah, two of my dearest friends who are huge Jowan and Cullen fans respectively. But then it became an important journey for me to tell, as Jalyn and Melina's paths became distorted mirrors of my own. Thank you again for reading, everyone, and for the comments.


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